















She’s All the World 

To Me. 

A NOVEL. 


BY 

HALL CAINE, 

AUTHOR OF “ THK ;VIANXMAN,” “ THE BONDSMAN,” 

“the deemster,” etc. 


A '> 

> 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS 


O ^ 'J 



ALTKMUS* 

BOOKBINDERY 

PHILADELPHIA 

H 


SHE’S ALL THE ¥OELH TO ME 


PROEM. 

This is the story of how a woman’s love triumphed 
over neglect and wrong, and of how the unrequited pas- 
sion in the great heart of a boy trod its devious paths in 
the way to death, until it stood alone with its burden of 
sin before God and the pitiless deep. 

In the middle of the Irish Sea there is, as every one 
knows, an island which for many ages has had its own 
people, with their own language and laws, their own 
judges and governor, their own lords and kings, their 
own customs and superstitions, their own proverbs and 
saws, their own ballads and songs. On the west coast 
of the Isle of Man stands the town of Peel. Though 
clean and sweet, it is not even yet much of a place to 
look at, with its nooks and corners, its blind lanes and 
dark alleys, its narrow, crooked, crabbed streets. Thirty- 
five years ago it was a poor little hungry fishing port, 
chill and cheerless enough, staring straight out over 
miles and miles of bleak sea. To the north of Peel 
stretches a broad shore ; to the south lies the harbor with 
a rocky headland and bare mountain beyond. In front 
— divided from the mainland by a narrow strait — is a 
rugged island rock, on which stand the ruins of a caistle. 

( 3 ) 


4 ishe^s all the world to me. 

At the back rises a gentle slope dotted over with gray 
houses. 

This is the scene of the following history of the love 
that was won and the love that was lost, of death that 
had no sting and the grave that had no victory. Wild 
and eerie as the coast on which I learned it is this story 
of love and death ; but it is true as Truth, and what it 
owes to him who writes it now with feelings deeper than 
he can say is less than it asks of all by whom it is read 
in sympathy and simple faith. 


CHAPTER I. 

MYLREA BALLADHOO. 

The season was early summer; the year 1850. The 
morning had been bright and calm, but a mist had crept 
up from the sea as the day wore on, and the night, when 
it came, was close, dark, and dumb. Laden with its 
salt scent, the dank vapor had enveloped an old house on 
the ‘‘brew’^ behind the town. It was a curious place 
— ugly, long, loose, and straggling. One might say it 
was a featureless and irresolute old fabric. Over the 
porch was printed, Prepare to meet thy God.’^ It was 
called Balladhoo, and, with its lands, it had been for 
ages the holding of the Mylreas, an ancient Manx 
family, once rich and consequently revered, now notor- 
iously less wealthy and proportionately more fallible. 

In this house there was a parlor that faced the bay 
and looked out towards the old castle and the pier at the 
mouth of the harbor. Over the mantel-piece was carved 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


5 


God’s Providence is Mine Inheritance.” One might 
add that it was a melancholy old mansion. 

A gentleman was busy at a table in the bay-window 
sorting and arranging papers by the last glimmering day- 
light. He was a man of sixty-five, stout, yet flaccid and 
slack, and wearing a suit of coarse blue homespun that 
lay loosely upon him. His white hair hung about a face 
that bespoke an unusual combination of traits. The eyes 
and forehead were full of benevolence, but the mouth 
was alternately strong and weak, harsh and tender, un- 
certain whether the proper function of its mobile corners 
was to turn up in laughter or down in disdain. 

This was Evan Mylrea, member of the House of Keys, 
Harbor Commissioner, and boat-owner, philanthropist 
and magistrate, coroner, constable, and ‘Hocal” for the 
Wesleyan body, and commonly known by his surname 
coupled with the name of his estate — Mylrea Balladhoo. 
Mylrea Balladhoo did not belie his face. He was the 
sort of man who gives his dog one blow for snapping at 
his hand, and then two more for not coming back to be 
caressed. Rightly understood, the theory of morals that 
an act like this implies tells the whole story of Mylrea’s 
life and character, so far as either of these concerns the 
present history. It was the rule on which this man, now 
grown old, had lived with the young, reckless, light- 
hearted, thoughtless, beautiful, and darling wife whom 
he had brought from England thirty years ago, and bur- 
ied at home five years afterwards. It was the principle 
on which he had brought up her only son. 

Just now there came from some remote part of the 
house the most doleful wails that ever arrested mortal 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


ears. At times they resembled the scream of the cor- 
morant as he wheels over a rock at sea. At other times 
they recalled more precisely the plaintive appeal of the 
tailless tabby when she is pressed hard for time and 
space. Mylrea Balladhoo was conscious of these noises. 
Glancing once at his face, you might have thought it 
had dropped to a stern frown. Glancing twice, you 
must have seen that it had risen to a broad grin. One 
might certainly say that this was a grewsome dwelling. 

There was a loud banging of doors, the distant 
screeches were suddenly abridged ; there was the tread 
of an uncertain foot in the passage without, the door 
opened, and an elderly man entered, carrying a lamp, 
which he placed on the table. It was James Quark, the 
gardener, commonly called Jemmy Balladhoo. That 
mention of the cormorant was lucky ; this man’s eyes 
had just the sea-bird’s wild stare. The two little gray- 
green globes of fire were, however, set in a face of the 
most flabby amiability. His hair, which was thin and 
weak, travelled straight down his forehead due for his 
eyes. In one hand he carried something by the neck, 
which, as he entered, he made late and futile efforts to 
conceal behind his back. 

‘^It’s Mr. Kerruish Kinvig, sir, that’s coming up to 
see you,” said the man in a meek voice. 

‘‘Show him in,” said Mylrea Balladhoo; “and, 
Jemmy,” he added, shouting in the man’s ear, “ for 
mercy’s sake take that fiddle to the barn.” 

“Take him to the barn?” said Jemmy, with an af- 
frighted stare. “ Why, it’s coming here he is, this very 
minute.” 


SEE ^8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


n 


•<The fiddle, tr.e fiddle ! ” shouted Mr. Mylrea. ^*1 
always had my doubts about the music that’s in it, and 
now I see there’s none at all.” 

Jemmy took himself off, carrying his fiddle very 
tenderly in both hands. He was all but stone deaf, poor 
fellow, and had never yet known the full enjoyment of 
his own music. That’s why he was so liberal of it with 
people more happily endowed. 

A big blustering fellow then dashed into the parlor 
without ceremony. 

‘‘ Balladhoo,” he shouted, in a voice that rang through 
the house, why don’t you have the life of that howling 
demon ? Here, take my clasp-knife at it and silence it 
forever.” 

‘‘It’s gone to the barn,” said Mylrea Balladhoo, 
quietly, in reply to these bloodthirsty proposals. 

The new-comer, Kerruish Kinvig, was a prosperous 
net-maker in Peel, and a thorn in the side of every pub- 
lic official within a radius of miles. The joy of his life 
was to have a delightful row with a magistrate, a coro- 
ner, a commissioner, or perhaps a parson by preference. 
When there was never a public meeting to be inter- 
rupted, never a “vestry” to be broken up, Kerruish 
Kinvig became as flat and stale as an old dog, and was 
forced to come up and visit his friend Mylrea Balladhoo, 
just by way of keeping his hand in. 

On the present occasion he had scarcely seated him- 
self, when he leaped up, rushed to the window, peered 
into the night, and shouted that the light on the harbor 
pier was out once more. He declared that this was the 
third time within a month ; prophesied endless catastro- 


8 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO MK 


phes ; didn’t know for his part what in the name of 
common-sense the commissioners were about; could 
swear that smuggling was going on under their very 
noses. 

‘‘I’ll have the law on the lot of you,” bellowed Kin- 
vig at the full pitch of his voice, and meantime he 
helped himself to the whiskey on the table, and filled 
his pipe from the domestic bowl. “ It’s the truth. I’ll 
fling you all out,” he shouted through a cloud of smoke. 

“ Eh, you’ll have your fling,” replied the unperturbed 
Mylrea. 

Then, going to the door, the master of Balladhoo re- 
called the gardner. 

From the subsequent conversation it appeared that, to 
prevent illicit trading, the Imperial Government had 
t)een compelled to station a cutter in every harbor of the 
island ; that the cutter stationed at Peel, having come by 
some injury a month ago, had been removed to England 
for repairs, and had not yet been brought back. Ker- 
ruish Kinvig declared that some gang of scoundrels, 
perceiving the incompetence of the home officials, were 
availing themselves of the absence of the Government 
ship to run vessels laden with contraband goods under 
the cover of the darkness. 

Jemmy came back, and Mr. Mylrea sent him to fetch 
his son Christian. 

Jemmy went off for that purpose. 

Some talk of the young man then ensued between his 
father and Kinvig. It transpired that Christian had had 
a somewhat questionable career — was his father’s only 
son, and had well-nigh ruined the old man with debts 


SHE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. ^ 

contracted during a mysterious absence of six ye»*!rs. 
Christian had just returned home, and Mylrea Balladhoo, 
stern on the outside, tender at the core, loving his son as 
the one thing left to him to love, had forgiven every- 
thing — disgrace, ingratitude, and impoverishment — and 
taken back the prodigal without a word. 

And, in truth, there was something so winsome in the 
young fellow’s reckless, devil-may-care indifference that 
he got at the right side of people’s affections in spite of 
themselves. Only those who come close to this type of 
character can recognize the rift of weakness or wilful- 
ness, or it may be of selfishness, that runs through the 
fair vein of so much good-nature. And if Mylrea Bal- 
ladhoo saw nothing, who then should complain ? 

Now, Kerruish Kinvig was just as fond of Christian as 
anybody else, but that was no just cause and impediment 
why he should hold his peace as to the young man’s 
manifold weaknesses. So it was — 

Look here, Balladhoo. I’ve something to say about 
that fine son of yours, and it’s middling strange too.” 
Drop it, Kerruish,” muttered Mylrea. 

So I will, but it’s into your ear I’ll drop it. Do you 
know he’s hanging round one of my net-makers — eh ? ” 

‘‘ You’re fond of a spell at the joking, Kerruish, but 
in a general way, you know, a man doesn’t like to look 
like a fool. You’ve got too much fun in you, Kerruish; 
ihaX*syour fault, and I’ve always said so.” 

There was a twinkle in the old man’s eye, but it went 
off like summer lightning. Who is she?” he asked, 
in another tone. 

** Mo»a Cregeen they’re calling her,” said Kinvig. 


10 


SBE^S ALL_ THE WORLD TO ME, 


What is she? ” 

Don’t I tell you — one of my net-makers!** thun- 
dered Kinvig. 

Who are her people? Where does she come from? 
What do you know about her ? What has Christian bad 
to say to her — ’* 

Hold on ; that’s a middling tidy lot to begin with,** 
shouted Kinvig. 

Then it was explained that Mona Cregeen was a young 
woman of perhaps three-and-twenty, who had recently 
come to Peel from somewhere in the south of the island, 
accompanied by her aged mother and little sister, a child 
of five, closely resembling her. 

Jemmy, the gardener, returned to say that Christian 
was not at home ; left an hour ago ; said he would be 
back before bed -time. 

‘*Ah! it*s the ‘Jolly Herrings* he*s off to,** said 
Kinvig. The “ Jolly Herrings ** was a low hovel of an 
:nn down in the town. 

“ As I say, you’ve a fine feeling for the fun, Kerruish,** 
^id Mylrea; “Jemmy, put on your coat quick. You 
have to carry a message to the harbor-master. It can’t 
wait for Master Christian.” 

Now Jemmy Balladhoo had, as we have seen, one 
weakness, but it was not work. He remembered quite 
opportunely that there was a boy in the kitchen who had 
juiSt come up on an errand from the town, and must of 
course go back again. It was quite an inspiration, but 
none the less plainly evident that the boy was the very 
person to carry the message to the harbor-master. 

“ Who is he ? ** shouted Kerruish Kinvig. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


11 


Danny Fayle,’* answered Jemmy. 

Pshaw ! he’ll never get there,” bawled Kinvig. 

Bring him up,” said Mylrea Balladhoo. 

A minute later, a fisher-lad of eighteen shambled into 
the room. You might have said he was long rather than 
tall. He wore a guernsey and fumbled with a soft blue 
seaman’s cap in one hand. His fair hair clustered in 
tangled curls over his face, which was sweet and comely, 
but had a simple vacant look from a lagging lower lip. 

Danny was an orphan, and had been brought up none 
too tenderly by an uncle and aunt. The uncle. Bill 
Kisseck, was admiral of the fishing-fleet, and master of 
a fishing-lugger belonging to Mr. Mylrea. To-morrow 
was to be the first day of the herring season, and it was 
relative to that event that Danny had been sent up to 
Balladhoo. The lad received from Mr. Mylrea, in his 
capacity as harbor commissioner, a message of stern re- 
proof and warning, which he was to convey to the offi- 
cial whose lack of watchfulness had allowed the light on 
the harbor pier to go out. 

Run straight to his house, Danny, my lad,” said 
Mylrea Balladhoo. 

‘‘ And don’t go cooling your heels round that cottage 
of the Cregeen’s,” put in Kerruish Kinvig. 

A faint smile that had rested like a ray of pale sun- 
shine on the lad’s simple face suddenly vanished. He 
hung his head, touched his forehead with the hand 
holding the cap, and disappeared. 


12 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


CHAPTER 11. 

IN PEEL CASTLE. 

When Danny reached the outside of the house, the 
night was even more dark and dumb than before. He 
turned to the right under the hill known as the Giant’s 
Fingers, and took the cliff road to the town. The deep 
boom of the waters rolling slowly on the sand below 
came up to him through the dense air. He could hear 
the little sandpiper screaming at Orry’s Head across the 
bay. The sea-swallow shot past him, too, with its low 
mournful cry. Save for these, everything was still. 

Danny had walked about a quarter of a mile, when he 
paused for a moment at the gate of a cottage that stood 
halfway down the hill to the town. There was a light 
in the kitchen, and from where he stood in the road 
Danny could see those who were within. As if by an 
involuntary movement, his cap was lifted from his head 
and fumbled in his fingers, while his eyes gazed yearn- 
ingly in at the curtainless window. Then he remem- 
bered the harsh word of Kerruish Kinvig, and started 
off again more rapidly. It was as though he had been 
kneeling at a fair shrine when a cruel hand befouled and 
blurred it. 

Danny was superstitious. He was full to the throat of 
fairy lore and stories of witchcraft. The night was 
dark ; the road was lonely ; hardly a sound save that of 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


13 


his own footsteps broke the stillness, and the ghostly 
memories would arise. To banish them Danny began to 
whistle, and, failing with that form of musical society, 
to sing. His selection of a song was not the happiest 
under the circumstances. Oddly enough, it was the 
doleful ballad of Myle Charaine. Danny sang it in 
Manx, but here is a stave of it in the lusty tones of the 
fine old Lavengro — 

“ Oh, Myle Charaine, where got you your gold ? 

Lone, lone, you have left me here ; 

Oh, not in the Curragh, deep under the mould — 

Lone, lone, and void of cheer.*’ 

There was not much cheer that Danny could get out 
of Myle Charaine’ s company, but he could not at the 
moment think of any ballad hero who was much more 
heartsome. He had a good step of the road to go yet. 
Somehow the wild legend of the Moddey Dhoo would 
creep up into Danny’s mind. In the days when the old 
castle was garrisoned, the soldiers in the guard-room 
were curious about a strange black dog that came every 
night and lay in their midst. It’s a devil,” said one. 

I’ll follow it and see,” said another. When the dog 
rose to go the intrepid soldier went out after it. His 
comrades tried to prevent him. ‘‘I’ll follow it,” he 
said, “if it leads to hell.” A minute afterwards there 
was an unearthly scream ; the soldier rushed back pale 
as a corpse, and with great staring eyes. He said not a 
word, and died within the hour. The Moddey Dhoo 
kept tormenting poor Danny to-night. So he set up the 
song afresh, and to heighten the sportive soul of it, he 


14 


8RE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


began to run. Once having taken to his heels, Danny 
ran as if the black dog itself had been behind him. By 
the time he reached the town he was fairly spent. Myle 
Charaine and the Moddey Dhoo together had been too 
much for Danny. What with the combined exertion of 
legs and lungs, the lad was perspiring from head to foot. 

The house of the harbor-master was a little ivy-covered 
cottage that stood on the east end of the quay, near the 
bridge that crossed the river. The harbor-master him- 
self was an unmarried elderly man, who enjoyed the 
curious distinction of having always worn short petti- 
coats. His full and correct name seems almost to have 
been lost. He was known as Tommy-Bill-beg, a by- 
name which had at least a certain genealogical value in 
showing that the harbor-master was Tommy the son of 
Little Bill. When Danny reached the cottage he 
knocked, and had no answer. Then he lifted the latch 
and walked in. The house was empty, though a light 
was burning. It had two rooms and no more. One 
was a dark closet of a sleeping-crib. The other, the liv- 
ing room, was choked with nearly every conceivable ar- 
ticle of furniture and species of domestic ornament. 
Shells, fish-bones, bits of iron and lead ore, sticks and 
pipes lay on tables, chairs, chests, settles, and corner 
cupboards. A three-legged stool stood before the fire- 
place ; and with all his wealth of rickety furniture, this 
was probably the sole article which the harbor-master 
used. There was a facetious-faced timepiece on the 
mantel-piece ; and when folks pitied the isolation of 
Tommy-Bill-beg, and asked him if he never felt lonely, 
he always replied, Not while I hear the clock tick.*’ 


SffE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


15 


But Tommy- Bill-beg had not heard the clock tick for 
twenty years. He resembled Jemmy Quark in being 
almost stone-deaf, and had a further bond of union with 
the gardener of Balladhoo in being musical. He played 
no instrument, however, except his voice, which he be- 
lieved to be of the finest quality and compass. The 
harbor-master was wofully wrong as to the former, but 
right as to the latter ; he had a voice like a rasp, and as 
loud as a fog-horn. Printed copies of ballads were pin- 
ned up on various parts of the wall of his kitchen. 
Tommy-Bill-beg could not read a line ; but he would 
rather have died than allow that this was so, and he 
never sang except from print. 

Danny Fayle knew well how often the musical weak- 
ness of the harbor-master was played upon by the Peel 
men ; and when he found the cottage empty he sus- 
pected that some wags of fisher-fellows had decoyed 
Tommy-Bill-beg away to the Jolly Herring for the sport 
of having him sing on this their last night ashore. 
Danny set off for the inn, which was in Castle Street. 
He walked along the quay, intending to turn up a pas- 
sage. 

The night seemed darker than ever now, and not a 
breath of wind was stirring. The harbor on Danny’s 
left was some twenty yards across, and another twenty 
yards divided the main-land from the island rock, on 
which stood the ruins of the old fortress. The tide was 
out, and the fishing-luggers lay at secure anchorage on 
the shingle, and in six inches of mud. The pier was 
straight ahead, and there the light should now be burn- 
ing. 


16 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


As Danny approached the passage that led up to C«iSt^ 
Street he heard the distant rumble of noisy singing. 
Yes, it came from the Jolly Herrings beyond question, 
and Tommy-Bill-beg was there airing his single vanity. 

Danny was about to turn up the passage when, in a lull 
in the singing, he thought he caught the sound of voices 
and of the tread of feet. Both came from the rock out- 
side, and Danny could not resist the temptation to walk 
on and listen. 

There could be no doubt of it. Some people were go- 
ing up to the castle. What could they want in that deso- 
late place at night, and thus late ? In Danny’s mind the 
ancient castle had always been encircled by ghostly imag- 
inings. Perhaps it was fear that drew him to it now. 
Probably ordinary common-sense would have suggested 
that Danny should run off first to the harbor-master with 
the message that he had been charged to deliver, but 
Danny had neither part nor lot in that ordinary inherit- 
ance. 

Near the bottom of the ebb tide the neck that divided 
the pier from the castle could be forded. Danny stole 
down the pier steps and crossed the ford as noiselessly as 
he could. A flight of other steps hewn out of the rock, 
went up from the water’s edge to the deep portcullis. 
Danny crept up. He found that the old notched and 
barred door leading into the castle stood open. Danny 
stood and listened. The footsteps that he heard before 
were now far ahead of him. It was darkest of all under 
these thick walls. Danny had to pass the doorway of the 
ruined guard-room, terrible with the tradition of the 
black dog. As he went by the door he turned his head 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


17 


toward it in the darkness. At that instant he thought he 
heard something stir. He gasped, but could not scream. 
He stretched his arms fearfully toward the sound. There 
was nothing. All was still once more. Only the reced- 
ing footsteps dying away. Danny thought he had de- 
ceived himself. It was as though he had heard the rustle 
of a dress, but it must have been the soft rustle of leaves. 
Yet there were no trees in the castle. 

Danny stepped forward into the court-yard. His feet 
fell softly on the grass that now grew there. But he 
stopped again, and his heart seemed to stand still. He 
could have sworn that behind him he heard a light 
stealthy tread. Danny dropped to his knees, breath- 
less and trembling. 

It was gone. The deep, thick boom of the sea came 
from the shore far behind, and the thin, low plash of 
broken waters from the rocks beneath. The footsteps 
had ceased now, but Danny could hear voices. He rose 
to his feet, and walked toward whence they came. 

He found himself outside the crumbling walls of the 
roofless chapel of St. Patrick. He heard noises from 
within, and crouched behind a stone. Presently a light 
was struck. It lit all the air above it. Danny crept up 
to the chapel wall and peered in at one of the lancet 
windows. 

A company of men were there, but he could not dis- 
tinguish their faces. The single lantern they carried was 
now turned with its face to the ground. One of them 
had a crowbar with which he was prizing up a stone. It 
was a gravestone. The men were tearing open an old 
vault. 


2 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 

There was some muttering, and one of the men seemed 
to protest. Stop ! he cried ; not going to have 

a hand in a job like this. I’m bad enough, God knows, 
but no man shall say that I helped to violate a grave.” 

Danny shook from head to foot. He knew that voice. 
Just then the sea-swallow shot again overhead, uttering 
its low, mournful cry. At the same instant Danny 
thought he heard a half-stifled moan not far from his 
side, and once more his ear caught that soft rustling 
sound. Quivering in every limb, he could not stir. He 
must stand and be silent. He clung to the stone wall 
with convulsive fingers. 

The man with the crowbar laughed. Dowse that 
now,” he said, and laughed again. 

** Och, the timid he is to be sure, and the religious, 
too, all at once.” 

Danny knew that voice also, and knew as well that to 
utter a word or sound at that moment might be as much 
as his life was worth. The men were raising the stone. 

** Here, bear a hand,” said one. 

Never,” said the first speaker. 

There was a low, grating laugh. One of the men 
leaped into the vault. 

Now, then, tail on here more hands. Let’s have it, 
quick.” 

Then Danny saw that, lying on the ground, was some- 
thing that he had not observed before. It was like a 
thick black roll some four feet long. Two of the men 
got hold of it to hand it to the man below. 

** Come ! lay down, d’ye hear ? ” 

Danny’s terror mastered him. He turned to nm. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


19 


Then the man who had spoken first cried, What’s 
that?” 

There was a moment’s pause. 

** What’s what ? ” said the man in the vault. 

** I’ll swear on my soul I saw a woman pass the porch.” 

A bitter little laugh followed. 

Och, it’s always a woman he’s seeing.” 

Danny had found his legs at last. Flying along the 
grass as softly as a lapwing, he reached the old gate. 
Then he turned and listened. No ; there was nothing 
to show that he had been heard. He crept down the 
steps to the water’s edge. There in a creek he saw a 
boat which he had not observed on going up. He 
looked at the name. It was Ben-my-chree. 

Danny turned to the ford. The tide had risen a foot 
since he crossed, but he paddled through the water and 
gained the pier. Then he ran home as fast as his long 
legs would carry him, wet with sweat and speechless with 
dismay. 

Next morning Danny remembered that he had for- 
gotten all about the harbor-master and the light. 

“ Och, the cursed young imp that he is,” cried his 
uncle. Bill Kisseck, hitching his hand into Danny’s 
guernsey at the neck, and steadying him as if he had 
been a sack with an open mouth. ‘‘Aw, the booby; 
just taking a rovin’ commission and snappin’ his finger 
at the ould masther. What d’ye think would a happent 
to you, ye beach-comber if some ship had run ashore 
and been wrecked and scuttled and all hands lost, and 
not a pound of cargo left at her, and never a light on 
the pier, and all along of you, ye idiot waistrel I ” 


20 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


CHAPTER III. 

** MACKEREL — MACKER-EL — MACK-ER-EL ! ** 

It was a brilliant morning. The sea lay like a glass 
floor, and the sunshine, like a million fairies, danced on 
it. The town looked as bright as it was possible for Peel 
to look. The smoke was only beginning to coil upward 
from the chimney stacks, and the streets were yet quiet, 
when the silvery voice of a child was heard to cry — 

“ Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest.^' 

It was a little auburn-haired lassie of five, with ruddy 
cheeks, and laughing lips, and sparkling brown eyes. 
She wore a clean white apron that covered her skirt, 
which was tucked up and pinned in fish-wife fashion in 
front. Her head was bare ; she carried a basket over 
one arm, and a straw hat that swung on the other hand 

The basket contained flowers which the child was sell- 
ing : ‘‘A ha^ penny a bunch, ma’am, only a ha’- 

penny ! ” The little thing was as bright as the sunlight 
that glistened over her head. She had made a song of 
her sweet call, and chanted the simple words with a 
rhythmic swing — 

“ Sweet violeiis and primroses the sweetest.** 

** Ruby,” cried a gentleman at the door of a house 
facing the sea. Here, little one, give me a bunch of 


SHE^S ALL TEE WOULD TO ME. 


21 


your falderolls. What? No! not falderolls ? Is that 
it, little one, eh ? ** 

It was Mr. Kerruish Kinvig. 

The child pouted prettily and drew back her basket. 

‘‘What! not sell to me this morning. Oh, I see^ 
you choose your customers, you do, my lady. But I’ll 
have the law on you, I will.*’ 

Ruby looked up fearlessly into the face of the dread 
iconoclast. 

“ I don’t love you,” she said. 

<< No — eh? And why not now? ” 

“ Because you call the flowers bad names.” 

“ Oh, I do, do I? Well, never mind, little one. Say 
we strike a peace — eh ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t like people that "Strike,” said Ruby, with 
averted eyes. 

“ Well, then, cry a truce — anything you like.” 

Ruby knew what crying a flower or a fish meant. 

“Here, now, little one, here’s a penny; that’s 
double wages,* you know. Don’t you think the law 
would uphold me if I asked for a — ” 

“ A what ? ” asked the child, with innocent eyes. 

“ Well, say a kiss.” 

The bargain was concluded and the purchase ratified. 
In another minute the little feet were tripping away, 
and from a side street came the silvery voice that 
sang — 

** Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest.” 

At the next corner the lassie’s childlike tones were 
suddenly drowned by a lustier voice which cried 


22 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


Mack’rel ! Macker — el ! Fine, ladies — fresh, ladies 
— and bellies as big as bishops’ — Mack — er — el ! ” 

It was Danny Fayle with a board on his head contain- 
ing his last instalment of the season’s mackerel. When 
the two street- venders came together they stopped. 

Aw now, the fresh you’re looking this morning. 
Ruby veg — as fresh as a drewdrop, my chree 1 ” 

The little one lifted her eyes and laughed. Then she 
plunged her hand into her basket and brought out a bunch 
of wild roses. 

‘‘That’s for you, Danny,’* she said. 

“ Och, for me is it now ? Aw, and is it for me it is ? ” 
said Danny, with wondering eyes. “The clean ruined 
it would be in half a minute, though, at the likes of me. 
Ruby veg. Keep it for yourself, woman.” Louder i 
“Mack’rel — fine, ladies — fresh, ladies — Macker-el ! ” 
Then lower : “ Aw now, the sweet and tidy, they’d be 

lookin’ in your own breast, my chree — the sweet extra- 
ordinary ! ” 

The child looked up and smiled, looked down and 
pondered : then half reluctantly, half coquettishly, fixed 
the flowers in her bosom. 

“ Danny, I love you,” she said, simply. 

The object of Ruby’s affection blushed violently and 
was silent. 

“And so does Sissy,” added the little one. 

“Mona?” asked Danny, and his tongue seemed to 
cleave to his mouth. 

“Yes, and mamma too.” 

Danny’s face, which had begun to brighten, suddenly 
lost its sunshine. His lower lip was lagging wofully. 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


23 


‘‘Yes, Mona and mamma, and — and everybody,'* 
said the child, with ungrudging spontaneity. 

“ No, Ruby ven.’’ 

Danny’s voice was breaking. He tried to conquer this 
weakness by shouting aloud, “ Mack-er — Mack — " 
Then, in a softer tone, “ Not everybody, my chree." 

“ Well,*’ said the child in earnest defence, “ every- 
body except your uncle Kisseck.** 

“ Bill ? Bill ? What about Bill ? ** said Danny, hoarsely. 
“ Why don’t you fight into him, Danny? You’re a 
big boy now, Danny. Why don’t you fight into him ? " 
Danny’s simple face grew very grave. The soft blue 
eyes had an uncertain look. 

“ Did Sissy say that, Ruby veg? ” 

“ No, but she said Bill Kisseck was a — ^was a — " 

“ A what. Rue ? ” 

“ A brute — to youy Danny.” 

The lad’s face trembled. The hanging lower lip 
quivered, and the whole countenance became charged 
with sudden energy. Lifting his board from his head, 
and taking up the finest of the fish, he said, 

“Ruby, take this home to Mona. Here, now; it's 
at the bottom of your basket I’m putting it.” 

“ My flowers, Danny ! ” cried Ruby, anxiously. 

“Aw, what’s the harm they’ll take at all. There— 
there” (fixing some sea- weed over the mackerel)— 
“ nice, extraordinary — nice, nice 1 ” 

“ But what will your uncle Bill say, Danny ? ” asked 
the little one, with the shadow of fear in her eyes. 

“Bill? Bill? Oh, Bill,” said Danny, turning away 
his eyes for a moment. Then, with an access of 


24 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


Strength as he lifted his board on to his head and turned 
to go, ‘‘ If Bill says anything, I’ll — I’ll — ” 

‘‘No, don’t, Danny; no, don’t,” cried Ruby, the 
tears rising to her eyes. 

“Just a minute since,” said Danny, “ there came a 
sort of a flash, like that ” (he swung one arm across his 
eyes), “and all of a sudden I knew middlin’ well what 
to do with Bill.” 

“ Don’t fight, Danny,” cried Ruby; but Danny was 
gone, and from another street came “ Mack’rel — fine, 
ladies — fresh, ladies — and bellies as big as bishops’ — 
Mack-er-el ! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE FIRST OF “THE HERRINGS.’’ 

Later in the day the final preparations were being 
made for the departure of the herring fleet. Tommy- 
Bill- beg, the harbor-master, in his short petticoat, was 
bawling all over the quay, first at this man in the harbor 
and then at that. Bill Kisseck was also there in his ca- 
pacity as admiral of the fleet — an insular office for which 
he had been duly sworn in, and for which he received 
his five pounds a year. Bill was a big black-bearded 
creature in top-boots — a relic of the reign of the Norse- 
man in Man. Tommy-Bill-beg was chaffed about the 
light going out on the pier. He looked grave, declared 
there was “something in it.” Something supernatural, 
Tommy meant. Tommy-Bill-beg believed in his heart 
it was “all along of the spite of Gentleman Johnny 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


25 


now a bogy, erst a thief, who in the flesh had been put 
into a spiked barrel and rolled over the pier into the sea, 
swearing furiously, as long as he could be heard, that to 
prove his innocence it was his fixed intention to haunt 
forever the scene of his martyrdom. 

Kerruish Kinvig was standing by, and heard the har- 
bor-master’s explanation of the going out of the light. 

‘‘It’s middling strange,” shouted Kinvig, “ that the 
ghost should potter about only when the Government 
cutter happens to be out of the way, and Tommy-Bill- 
beg is yelping and screeching at the Joll}> Herrings. I’d 
have a law on such bogies, and clap them in Castle 
Rushen,” bawled Kinvig, “and all the fiddlers and 
carol-singers along with them,” he added. 

The harbor-master shook his head, apparently more in 
sorrow than in anger, and whispered Bill Kisseck that, 
as “ the good ould book ” says, “ Bad is the man that 
has never no music in his sowl.” 

It was one of Tommy-Bill-beg’s peculiarities of mental 
twist that he was full of quotations, and never by any 
chance fails to misascribe, misquote, and misapply them. 

The fishing-boats were rolling gently with the motion 
of the rising tide. When everything had been made 
ready, and the flood was at hand, the fishermen, to the 
number of several hundred men and boys, trooped off to 
the shore of the bay. There they were joined by a great 
multitude of women and children. Presently the vicar 
appeared, and, standing in an open boat, he offered the 
customary prayer for the blessing of God on the fishing 
expedition which was now setting out. 

“ Restore and continue to us the harvest of the sea ! ” 


26 


SEE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


And the men, on their knees in the sand, with un- 
covered heads, and faces in their hats, murmured ** Yn 
Meailley.^* 

Then they separated, the fishermen returning to their 
boats. 

Bill Kisseck leaped aboard the lugger that lay at the 
mouth of the harbor. His six men followed him. See 
all clear,’* he shouted to Danny, who sailed with him as 
boy. Danny stood on the quay with the duty of clear- 
ing ropes from blocks, and then following in the dingy 
that was moored to the steps. 

Among the women who had come down to the harbor 
to see the departure of the fleet were two who bore no 
very close resemblance to the great body of the towns- 
women. One was an elderly woman, with a thin sad 
face. The other was a young woman, or perhaps two or 
three and twenty, tall and muscular, with a pale cast of 
countenance, large brown eyes, and rich auburn hair. 
The face, though strong and beautiful, was not radiant 
with happiness, and yet it recalled very vividly a glint 
of human sunshine that we have known before. 

In another moment little Ruby, red with running, 
pranced up to their side, crying, “ Mona, come and see 
Danny Fayle’s boat. Here, look, there ; that one with 
the color on the deck.” 

The admiral’s boat was to carry a flag. 

The two women were pulled along by the little sprite 
and stopped just where Danny himself was untying a 
knot in a rope. Danny recognized them, lifted his hat, 
blushed, looked confused, and seemed for the moment to 
forget the cable. 


SEE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


27 


Tail on there ! shouted Bill Kisseck from the lug- 
ger. Show a leg there, if you don’t want the rat’s tail. 
D’ye hear? ” 

Danny was fumbling with his cap. That poor lag- 
ging lower lip was giving a yearning look to the lad’s 
simple face. He muttered some commonplace to Mona, 
and then dropped his head. At that instant his eye fell 
on the lower part of her dress. The blue serge of her 
gown was bleached near her feet. Danny, who could 
think of nothing else to say, mumbled something about 
the salt water having taken the color out of Mona’s 
dress. The girl looked down, and then said quietly. 
Yes, I was caught by the tide last night — I mean to 
say, I was — ” 

She was clearly trying to recall her words, but poor 
Danny had hardly heard them. 

‘‘You cursed booby!” cried Bill Kisseck, leaping 
ashore, “prating with a pack of women when I’m 
a- waiting for you. I’ll make you walk handsome over 
the bricks, my man.” 

With that he struck Danny a terrible blow and felled 
him. 

The lad got up abashed, and without a word turned to 
his work. Kisseck, still in a tempest of wrath, was leap- 
ing back to the lugger, when the young woman stepped 
up to him, looked fearlessly in his face, seemed about to 
speak, checked herself, and turned away. 

Kisseck stood measuring her from head to foot with 
his eyes, broke into a little bitter laugh, and said, 

“ I’m right up and down like a yard of pump-water; 
that’s what I am.” 


US SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

He jumped aboard again. Danny ran the rope from 
the blocks, the admiraPs boat cleared away, and the flag 
shot up to the mast-head. The other boats followed one 
after one to the number of nearly one hundred. The 
bay was full of them. 

When Kisseck’s boat had cleared the harbor, Danny 
ran down the steps of the pier with eyes still averted 
from the two women and the child, got into the dingy, 
took an oar and began to scull after it. 

‘‘ Sissy, Sissy,” cried Ruby, tugging at Mona’s dress, 

look at Danny’s little boat. What’s the name that is 
on it in red letters ? ’ ’ 

Ben-my-Chree,'' the young woman answered. 

Then the herring fleet sailed away under the glow of 
the setting sun. 


CHAPTER V. 

CHRISTIAN MYLREA. 

It was late when young Christian Mylrea got back to 
Balladhoo that night of Kerruish Kinvig’s visit. ‘‘ I’ve 
been up for a walk to the Monument on Horse Hill,” he 
remarked, carelessly, as he sat- down at the piano and 
touched it lightly to the tune of Drink to me only with 
thine eyes.” ‘‘ Poor old Corrin,” he said, pausing with 
two fingers on the key-board, ‘‘ what a crazy old heretic 
he must have been to elect to bury himself up yonder.” 
Then, in a rich full tenor, Christian sang a bar or two 
of Sally in our Alley.” 

The two older men were still seated at opposite sides 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


29 


of the table smoking leisurely. Mylrea Balladhoo told 
Christian of the errand on which he had wished to send 
him. 

“The light? Ah, yes,*^ said Christian, turning his 
head between the rests in his song, “ curious, that, 
wasn’t it? Do you know that coming round by the pier 
I mol iced that the light had gone out ; so ” — (a run up 
the piano) — “so, after ineffectual attempts to rouse that 
sad dog of a harbor-master of yours, dad, I went up into 
the box and lit it myself. You see it’s burning now.” 

“ Humph ! so it is,” grunted Kerruish Kinvig, who 
had got up in the hope of discrediting the statement. 

“ Only the wick run down, that was all,” said Chris- 
tian, who had turned to the piano again, and was rat- 
tling off a lively French catch. 

Christian Mylrea was a handsome young fellow of five 
or six and twenty, with a refined expression and easy 
manner, educated, genial, somewhat irresolute one might 
say, with a weak corner to his mouth ; naturally of a 
sportive disposition, but having an occasional cast of 
thoughtfulness; loving a laugh, but finding it rather apt 
of late to die away abruptly on his lips. 

Getting up to go, Kinvig said, “ Christian, my man, 
you’ve not seen my new net-looms since you came home. 
Wonderful inventions ! Wonderful I Extraordinary I 
Talk of your locomotive — pshaw ! Come down, man, 
and see them at work in the morning.” 

Christian reflected for a moment. “ I will,” he said, 
in a more serious tone than the occasion seemed to re- 
quire. “ Yes, ril do that,” he said. 

“In the morning!” said Mylrea Balladhoo, “To« 


30 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


morrow is the first day of the herrings — no time for new 
net-looms to-morrow at all/* 

The herrings ! *’ shouted Kinvig from the door in an 
accent of high disdain. 

^‘Nothing like leather/* said Christian, laughing. 

Let it be the morning after,** he added ; and so it was 
agreed. 

Next day Christian busied himself a little among the 
fishing-smacks that were the property of his father, or 
were, at least, known by his father’s name. He went in 
and sat among the fisher-fellows \nth a cheery voice and 
pleasant face. Everywhere he was a favorite. When his 
back was turned it was : None o* yer ransy-tansy-tisi- 

mitee about Misther Christian ; none o’ yer ‘ Well, my 
good man,* and the like o* that; awful big and could, 
sem as if they*d jist riz from the dead.’* Or perhaps, 

No criss-crossing about the young masther ; allis 
preachin*; and ‘ I’Jl kermoonicate yer bad behavior * and 
all that jaw.** Or again, more plaintively, I wish he 
were a bit more studdy-like, and savin*. Of coorse, of 
coorse, me and him*s allis been middlin* well acquent.*’ 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE NET FACTORY. 

The morning after the fleet left the harbor, Christian 
walked down to Kerruish Kinvig’s house, and together 
they went over the net factory. In a large room facing 
the sea a dozen hand-looms for the manufacture of drift- 
nets had been set up. Each loom was worked by a young 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


31 


woman, and she had three levers to keep in action— one 
with the hand and the others with the feet. 

Kinvig explained, with all the ardor of an enthusiast, 
the manifold advantage of the new loom over the old one 
with which Christian was familiar ; dwelt on the knots, 
the ties and the speed, exhibited a new reel for the un- 
winding of the cotton thread from the skein, and de- 
scribed a new method of barking when the nets come off 
the looms. Pausing now and then with the light of 
triumph in his eyes, he shouted, ‘‘ Where’s your Geordie 
Stephenson now ? Eh ? ” 

Christian listened with every appearance of rapt at- 
tention, and from time to time put questions which were 
at least respectably relevant. A quicker eye than Ker- 
ruish Kinvig’s might perhaps have seen that the young 
man’s attention was on the whole more occupied with the 
net-makers than with their looms, and that his quick gaze 
glanced from face to face with an inquiring expression. 

A child of very tender years was working a little 
thread reel at the end of the room, and, on some pre- 
tence, Christian left Kinvig’s side, stepped up to the 
child, and spoke to her about the click-clack of the 
levers and cranks. The little woman lifted her head to 
reply ; but, having a full view of her face, Christian 
turned away without waiting for her answer. 

After a quarter of an hour, all Christian’s show of in- 
terest could not quite conceal a look of weariness. One 
would have said that he had somehow been disappointed 
in this factory and its contents. Something that he had 
expected to see he had not seen. Just then Kinvig an- 
nounced that the choicest of his looms was in another 


32 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


room. This one would not only make a special knot, 
but would cut and finish. 

‘‘It is a delicate instrument, and wants great care in 
the working,” said Kinvig. In that regard the net-maker 
considered himself fortunate, for he had just hit on a 
wonderfully smart young woman who could work it as 
well, Kinvig verily believed, as he could work it himself. 

“ Who is she ? ” said Christian. 

“A stranger in these parts — came from the south 
somewhere — Castletown way,” said Kinvig; and he 
added with a grin, “ Haven’t you heard of her ? ” 

Christian gave no direct reply, but displayed the pro- 
foundest curiosity as to this latest development in net- 
making ingenuity. He was forthwith carried off to in- 
spect Kinvig’s first treasure in looms. 

The two men stepped into a little room apart, and 
there, working at the only loom that the room contained, 
was little Ruby’s sister, Mona Cregeen. The young 
woman was putting her foot on one of the lower treadles 
when they entered. She made a slight but perceptible 
start, and the lever went up with a bang. 

“ Tut, my girl, how’s this? ” said Kinvig. “ See — 
you’ve let that line of meshes off the hooks.” 

The girl stopped, replaced the threads one after one 
with nervous fingers, and then proceeded with her work 
in silence. 

Kinvig was beginning an elaborate engineering dis- 
quisition for Christian’s benefit — Christian’s head cer- 
tainly did hang rather too low for Kinvig’s satisfaction 
— when a girl comes in from the outer factory to say that 
a man at the gate would like to see the master. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


33 


‘^Botheration!’* shouted Kinvig; “but wait here, 
Christian, and I’ll be back.” Then, turning to the 
young weaver — “ Show this gentleman the action of the 
loom, my girl.” 

When the door had closed behind Mr. Kinvig, 
Christian raised his eyes to the young woman’s face. 
There was silence between them for a moment. The 
window of the room was open, and the salt breath of the 
ocean floated in. The sea’s deep murmur was all that 
could be heard between the clicks of the levers. Then 
Christian said, softly, 

“Mona, have you decided? Will you go back?” 

The girl lifted her eyes to his. “ No,” she answered, 
quietly. 

“Think again, Mona ; think of me. It isn’t that I 
couldn’t wish to have you here — always here — always 
with me — ” 

The girl gave a little hard laugh. 

“But think of the risk ! ” continued Christian, more 
eagerly. “Is it nothing that I am tortured with sus- 
pense already, but that you should follow me ? ” 

“And do /suffer nothing ? ” said she. 

There was no laughter on Christian’s lips now. . The 
transformation to earnest pallor was startling. 

“Think of my father,” he said, evading the girl’s 
question. “ I have all but impoverished him already 
with my cursed follies, and little does he dream, poor old 
dad, of the utter ruin that yet hangs over his head.” 

There was a pause. Then, in a tenderer tone, 

“Mona, don’t add to my eternal worries. Go back 


34 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


to Derby Haven, like the dear girl that you are. And 
when this storm blows over — and it will soon be past — 
then all shall be made right. Yes, it shall, believe me/* 

There was no answer. Christian continued, 

‘‘Go at once, my girl. Here** (diving into his 
pockets), ^‘I’ve precious little money left, God help 
me, but here*s enough to pay your way, and something 
to spare.** 

He offered a purse in his palm. The girl tossed up 
his hand with a disdainful gesture. 

** It’s not money I want from you,*’ she said. 

Christian looked at her for a moment with blank amaze- 
ment. She caught the expression, and answered it with 
a haughty curl of the lip. The sneer died off her face 
on the instant, and the tears began to gather in her eyes. 

‘‘It*s not love a girl wants, then?** she said, strug- 
gling to curl her lip again. It*s not love, then, that a 
girl like me can want,” she said. 

She had stopped the loom and covered up her face in 
her hands. 

‘‘No, no,” she added, with a stifled sob, “love is 
for ladies — fine ladies in silks and satins — pure — virtii- 
ous. ... Christian,” she exclaimed, dropping her 
hands and looking into his face with indignant eyes, 
“ I suppose there’s a sort of woman that wants nothing 
of a man but money, is there ? ” 

Christian’s lips were livid. “That’s not what I 
meant, Mona, believe me,” he said. 

The loom was still. The sweet serenity of the air left 
hardly a sense of motion. 

“You talk of your father, too,” the girl continued^ 


SEE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO 3IE, 


35 


lifting her voice. What of my mother ? You don^t 
think of her. No, but I do, and it goes nigh to making 
my heart bleed. 

‘‘Hush, Mona,*^ whispered Christian ; but, heedless 
of the warning, she continued, 

“To be torn away from the place where she was 
born and bred, where kith and kin still live, where 
kith and kin lie dead — that was hard. But it would 
have been harder, far harder, to remain, with shame 
cast at her from every face, as it has been every day 
for these five years. 

She paused. A soft boom came up to them from 
the sea, where the unruffled waters rested under the 
morning sun. 

“Yes, we have both suffered,^* said Christian. 
“What I have suffered God knows. Yes, yes; the man 
who lives two lives knows what it is to suffer. Talk of 
crime ! no need of that, as the good, goody, charitable 
world counts crime. Let it be only a hidden thing, 
that’s enough. Only a secret, and yet how it kills the 
sunshine off the green fields ! Christian laughed — a 
hollow, hard, cynical laugh. 

“ To find the thing creep up behind every thought, lie 
in ambush behind every smile, break out in mockery be- 
hind every innocent laugh. To have the dark thing 
with you in the dark night. No sleep so sweet but that it 
is haunted by this nightmare. No dream so fair but 
that an ugly memory steals up at first awakening — that, 
yes, that is to suffer ! ’ ’ 

Just then a flight of sea-gulls disporting on a rock in 
the bay sent up a wild, jabbering noise. 


36 


oHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


** To know that you are not the man men take you 
for ; that dear souls that cling to you would shudder at 
your touch if the scales could fall from their eyes, or if 
for an instant — as by a flash of lightning — the mask fell 
from your face ! ” 

Christian’s voice deepened, and he added. 

Yet to know that bad as one act of your life may 
have been, that life has not been all bad ; that if men 
could but see you as Heaven sees you, perhaps — perhaps 
— you would have acquittal — ” 

His voice trembled and he stopped. Mona was gaz- 
ing out over the sea with blurred eyes that saw nothing, 
Christian had been resting one foot on the loom. Lift- 
ing himself he stamped on the floor, threw back his head 
with a sudden movement, and laughed again, slightly. ’ 
** Something too much of this,” he said. Then 
sobering once more, ** Go back, Mona. It sha’n’t be 
for long. I swear to you it sha’n’t. But what must I 
do with debts hanging over me — ” 

‘‘I’ll tell you what you must not do,** said the girl 
with energy. 

Christian’s eyes but not his lips asked “ What ? ” 
“You must not link yourself with that Bill Kisseck 
and his Curragh gang.” 

A puzzled look crossed Christian’s face. 

“ Oh, I know their doings, don’t you doubt it,” said 
the girl. 

“What do you know of Bill Kisseck?” said Chris- 
tian with some perceptible severity. “ Tell me, Mona, 
what harm do you know of Bill and his — his gang, as 
you call them ? ** 


SBE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


37 


I know this — I know they’ll be in Castle Rushen one 
of these fine days.” 

Christian looked relieved. With a cold smile he said, 

I dare say you’re right, Mona. They are a rough lot, 
the Curragh fellows ; but no harm in them that I know 
of.” 

Harm ! ” Mona had started the loom afresh, but she 
stopped once more. Harm ! ” she exclaimed again. 
Then in a quieter way, Keep away from them, Chris- 
tian. You’ve seen too much of them of late.” 

Christian started. 

Oh, I know it. But you can’t touch pitch — you 
mind the old saying.” 

Mona had again started the loom, and was rattling at 
the levers with more than ordinary energy. Christian 
watched her for a minute with conflicting feelings. He 
felt that his manhood was being put to a severe strain. 
Therefore, assuming as much masculine superiority of 
manner as he could command, he said, 

‘‘ We’ll not talk about things that you don’t quite 
understand, Mona. What Kisseck may do is no affair 
of ours, unless I choose to join him in any enterprise, 
and then I’m the best judge, you know.” 

The girl stopped. Resting her elbow on the upper 
lever, and gazing absently out at the window where the 
light waves in the bay were glistening through a drowsy 
haze, she said, quietly, 

‘^The man that I could choose out of all the world is 
not one who lives on his father and waits for the storm 
to blow over. No, nor one that clutches at every straw, 
no matter what. He’s the man who’d put his hand to 


S8 SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 

the boats, or the plough, or the reins ; and if he hadn’t 
enough to buy me a ribbon, I’d say to myself, proudly, 
^ That man loves me ! ’ ” 

Christian winced. Then assuming afresh his loftier 
manner, ‘‘As I say, Mona, we won’t talk of things you 
don’t understand.” 

“ I’ll not go back ! ” said the girl, as if by a leap of 
thought. The loom was started afresh with vigor. 

“Then let me beg of you to be secret,” whispered 
Christian, coming close to her ear. 

The girl laughed bitterly. 

“Never fear,” she said, “it’s not for the woman to 
blab. No, the world is all for the man, and the law too. 
Men make the laws and women suffer under them — that’s 
the way of it.” 

The girl laughed again, and continued in mocking 
tones, “‘Poor fellow, he’s been sorely tempted,’ says 
the world ; ‘ Tut on her, never name her,’ says the law.” 

And once more the girl forced a hollow, bitter laugh. 

Just then a child’s silvery voice was heard in the street 
beneath. The blithe call was — 

“ Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest.” 

The little feet tripped under the window. The loom 
stopped, and they listened. Then Christian looked into 
the young woman’s face, and blinding tears rose on the 
instant into the eyes of both. 

“Mona!” he cried, in low passionate tones, and 
opened his arms. There was an unspeakable language 
in her face. She turned her head towards him long- 
ingly, yearningly, with heaving breast. He took one 


SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


39 


Step towards her. She drew back. — not yet ! 

His arms fell, and he turned away. 

Then the voice of Kerruish Kinvig could be heard in 
the outer factory. 

I’ve been middling long,” he said, hurrying in, 
‘‘but a man, a bailiff from England, came bothering 
about some young waistrel that I never heard of in my 
born days — had run away from his debts, and so on — 
had been traced to the Isle of Man, and on here to Peel. 
And think of that tomfool of a Tommy-Bill-beg sending 
the man to me. I bowled him off to your father.” 

“ My father ! ” exclaimed Christian, who had listened 
to Kinvig’s rambling account with an uneasy manner. 

“ Yes, surely, and the likeliest man too. What’s a 
magistrate for at all if private people are to be moidered 
like yonder? But come. I’ll show you the sweet action 
of this loom in unwinding. Look now — see — keep your 
eye on those hooks.” 

And Kerruish Kinvig rattled on with his explanation 
to a deaf ear. 

“Mr. Kinvig,” interrupted Christian, “I happen to 
know that father is not risen yet this morning. That 
bailiff—” 

“More shame for him; let him be roused anyhow. 
See here, though, press your hand on that level — so. 
Now when Mona puts down that other level — do you 
see? No ! Why don’t you look closer? ” 

“ Mr. Kinvig, do you know I half fancy that young 
fellow the man was asking for must have been an old col- 
lege chum of mine. If you wouldn’t mind sending one 


40 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


of your girls after him to Balladhoo to ask him to meet 
me in half an hour at the harbor- master's cottage on the 
quay — " 

‘‘ Here ! Let it be here; " calling ‘'Jane ! " 

“ No, let it be on the quay," said Christian ; “ I have 
to go there presently, and it will save time, you know." 

“Bless me, man ! have you come to your saving days 
at last ? " 

Kinvig turned aside, instructed Jane, and resumed the 
thread of his technical explanations. 

“ Let me show you this knot again ; that bum-bailiff 
creature was bothering you before. Look now — stand 
here — so." 

“Yes," said Christian, with the resignation of a 
martyr. 

Then Kinvig explained everything afresh, but with an 
enthusiasm that was sadly damped by Christian's mani- 
fest inability to command the complexities of the inven- 
tion. 

“ I thought once that you were going to be a bit of an 
engineer yourself, Christian. Bless me, the amazing 
learned you were at the wheels, and the cranks, and the 
axles when you were a lad in jackets; but" — with a 
suspicious smile — “ it's likely you're doing something in 
the theology line now, and that's a sort of feeding and 
sucking and suction that won't go with the engineering 
anyhow." Christian smiled faintly, and Kinvig, as if 
by an after-thought, shouted, 

“ Heigh-ho ! Let's take the road for it. We've kept 
this young woman too long from her work already." 
(Going out.) “You didn’t give her much of a spell at 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


41 


the work while I was away/^ (Outside.) Oh, I saw 
the little bit of your sweethearting as I came back. But 
it’s wrong, Christian. It’s a shame, man, and a mid* 
dling big one, too.” 

What’s a shame ? ” asked Christian, gasping out the 
inquiry. 

‘‘ Why, to moider a girl with the sweethearting when 
she’s got her living to make. How would you like it, 
eh? Middling well? Oh, would you? All piece- 
work, you know; so much a piece of net, a hundred 
yards long and two hundred meshes deep ; work from 
eight to eight ; fourteen shillings a week, and a widowed 
mother to keep, and a little sister as well. How would 
you like it, eh ? ” 

Christian shrugged his shoulders and hung his head. 

Tut, man alive, you fine fellows browsing on your 
lands, you scarce know you’re born. Come down and 
mix among poor folks like this girl, and her mother, and 
the little lammie, and you’ll begin to know you’re 
alive.’* 

dare say,” muttered Christian, making longish 
strides to the outer gate. A broad grin crossed the face 
of Kerruish Kinvig as he added, 

“ But I tell you what, when you get your white choker 
under your gills, and you do come down among the like 
of these people with your tracts, and your hymns, and 
all those rigs, and your face uncommon solemn, and 
your voice like a gannet — none of your sweethearting, 
my man. Look at that girl Mona, now. It isn’t 
reasonable to think you’re not putting notions into the 
girl’s head. It’s a shame, man.” 


42 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


You’re right, Mr. Kinvig,” said Christain, under 
his breath, a cursed shame.” And he stretched out 
his hand impatiently to bid good-bye. 

‘‘No. I’ll go with you to Tommy-Bill-beg’s. Oh, 
don’t mind me. I’ve nothing particular on hand, or I 
wouldn’t waste my time on ye. Yes, as I say, it’s 
wrong. Besides, Christian, what you want to do now 
is to marry a girl with a property. That’s the only 
thing that will put yonder Balladhoo right again, and — 
in your ear, man — that’s about what your father’s look- 
ing for.” 

Christian winced, and then tried to laugh. 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it ?” he said, absently. 

“ But leave the girls alone. They’re amazin’ like the 
ghos’es are the girls ; once you start them you never 
know where they’ll stop, and they get into every skeleton 
closet about the house — but of course, of course I’m an 
old bachelor, and as the saying is, I don’t know noth- 
in’.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! of course not,” laughed Christian 
with a tragic effort. 

They had stopped outside the ivy cottage of the har- 
bor-master, and that worthy, who was standing there, 
had overheard the last loud words of Kinvig’s conver- 
sation. 

“What do you say, Tommy-Bill-beg ? ” asked Kin- 
vig, giving him a prod in the ribs, 

“ I say that the gels in these days ought to get wed- 
ded while they’re babbies in arms — ” 

“ That’ll do, that’ll do,” shouted Kinvig with a roar 
of laughter. 


SHE^S ALL THE WOULD TO ME. 


43 


At the same moment one of the factory girls appeared 
side by side with a stranger. 

‘‘ Good-bye, Mr. Kinvig,’^ said Christain. 
Good-day,” Kinvig answered; and then shouting 
to the stranger, ‘ ‘ this gentleman knows something of 
the young vagabond you want.” 

So I see,” answered the stranger with a cold smile, 
and Christian and the stranger stepped apart. 

When they parted, the stranger said, Well, one 
month let it be, and not a day longer.” Christian 
nodded his head in assent, and turned toward Balladhoo. 
After dinner he said, 

‘^Father, I’d like to go out to the herrings this sea- 
son. It would be a change.” 

Humph ! ” grunted his father ; which boat? ” 
Well, I thought of the Ben-my-Chree ; she’s roomy, 
and, besides, she’s the admiral’s boat, and perhaps Kis- 
seck wouldn’t much like to hear that I’d sailed with an- 
other master.” 

‘‘You’ll soon tire of that amusement,” mumbled 
Mylrea Balladhoo. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE LAST OF “THE HERRINGS.” 

Some months later, as the season was chilling down 
to winter, the Ben-my- Chree^ with the fleet behind her, 
was setting out from Peel for her last night at “the 
herrings.” On the deck, among others, was Christian 
Mylrea, in blue serge and guernsey, heavy sea-boots and 


44 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


sou’wester. It was past sundown ; a smart breeze was 
blowing off the land as they rounded the Contrary Head 
and crossed the two streams that flow there. It was 
not yet too dark, however, to see the coast-line curved 
into covelets and promontories, and to look for miles 
over the hills where stretched the moles and hillocks of 
gorse and fussacks of long grass. 

The twilight deepened as they rounded Niarbyl Point 
and left the Calf Islet on their lee, with Cronte-nay- 
Ivey-Lhaa towering into the gloomy sky. When they 
sailed through Fleshwick Bay the night gradually dark- 
ened, and they saw nothing of Ennyn Mooar. But the 
heavens lightened again and glittered with stars, and 
when they brought the lugger head to the wind in six 
fathoms of water outside Port Erin, the moon had risen 
behind Brada, and the steep and rugged headland 
showed clear against the sky. 

Have you found the herring on this ground at the 
same time in former seasons?” asked Christian of Kis- 
seck. 

** Not for seven years.'’ 

Then why try now ? ” 

^<See the gull there. She’s skipper to-night. She’s 
showing us the fish.” 

And one after another the fleet brought to about 
them. 

Danny Fayle had been leaning over the bow, and 
occasionally rapping with a stick at the timbers near the 
water. 

Any signs ? ” shouted Kisseck. 

Ay,” said Danny, ‘^the mar-fire’s risin’.” 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


45 ^ 


The wind had dropped, and luminous patches of phos- 
phorescent light in the water were showing Danny that 
the herring were stirring. 

‘‘ Let’s make a shot ; up with the gear,” said Kisseck; 
and preparations were made for shooting the nets over 
the quarter. 

‘‘ Davy Cain (the mate), you see to the lint. Tommy 
Tear, look after the corks. Danny — where’s that lad? 
— look to the seizings ; d’ye hear ? ” 

Then the nets were hauled from below and passed over 
a bank board placed between the hatchway and the top 
of the bulwark. Davy and Tommy shot the gear, and 
as the seizings came up, Danny ran aft with them and 
made them fast to the warp near the taffrail. 

When the nets were all paid out, every net in the drift 
being tied to the next, and a solid wall of meshes nine 
feet deep had been swept away for half a mile behind 
them, Kisseck shouted, ‘‘Down with the sheets.” 

The sails were taken in, the mainmast — made to lower 
backward — was dropped, and only the drift-mizzen was 
left to keep the boat’s head to the wind. 

“ Up with the light there,” shouted Kisseck. 

On hearing this Danny popped his head out of the 
hatchways. 

“ Ah ! to be sure, that lad’s never ready. Gerr out 
of that, quick.” 

Danny took a lantern and fixed it on the top of the 
mitch-board. 

Then vessel and nets drifted together. Christian and 
the skipper went below. 

It was now a calm, clear night, with just light enough 


16 


mE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


to show two or three of the buoys on the back of the 
first net as they floated under water. The skipper had 
not mistaken his ground. Large white patches came 
moving out of the surrounding pavement of deep black, 
lightened only with the occasional image of a star where 
the vanishing ripples left the sea smooth. Once or twice 
countless faint popping sounds were heard, and minute 
points of silver were seen in the water around. The 
herrings were at play about them. Shoals on shoals 
were breaking the sea into glistening foam. 

After an hour had passed, Kisseck popped his head 
out of the hatchways, and cried, ‘*Try the look-on.^* 

The warp was hauled in until the first net was reached. 
It came up as black as coal, save for a dog-fish or two 
that had broken a mesh here and there. 

'‘Too much moon to-night,’^ said Kisseck; "they 
see the nets, and the ’cute they are extraordinary.” 

Half an hour later the moon went out behind a thick 
ridge of cloud that floated over the land. The sky be- 
came gray and leaden, and a rising breeze ruffled the 
sea. Some of the men on deck began to sing. 

" Hould on there,” shouted Kisseck, "d’ye want to 
frighten all the herrin’ for ten miles?” 

Hour after hour wore on, and not a fish came to the 
"look-on” net. Towards one o’clock in the morning 
the moon broke out again in full splendor. 

" There’ll be a heavy strike now,” said Kisseck ; and 
in another instant a luminous patch floated across the 
line of nets, sank, disappeared, and pulled three of the 
buoys down with them. 

" Pull up now,” shouted Kisseck. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


47 


Then the nets were hauled. It was Danny Fayle’s 
duty to lead the warp through a snatch-block fixed to 
the mast-hole on to the capstan. Davy Cain discon- 
nected the nets from the warps, and Tommy Tear and 
Mark Crennel pulled the nets over the gunwale. They 
came up, white in the moonlight, as a solid block of 
fish. Bill Kisseck and Christian passed the nets over 
the scudding pole, and shook the herrings into the 
hole. 

Five barrels at least,*' said Kisseck. Try again.” 
And once more the nets were shot. The other boats of 
the fleet were signalled that the Ben-my- Chree had dis- 
covered a scale of fish. The blue light was answered 
by other blue lights on every side. The fishing was 
faring well. 

One, two, three o'clock. The night was wearing on. 
The moon went out once more, and in the darkness that 
preceded the dawn the lanterns burning on the drifting 
boats gave out an eerie glow. At last the gray light 
came in the east, and the sun rose over the land. The 
breeze was now fresh, and it was time to haul in the nets 
for the last time. 

In accordance with ancient custom, the admiral's flag 
went up to the mast-head, and at this sign every man in 
the fleet dropped on one knee, with his face in his cap, 
to offer his silent thanksgiving for the blessings of the 
season. 

Tumble up the sheets — bear a hand there— d—— 
the lad — gerr out of the way.” 

In five minutes the lugger was running home befcMre a 
itiff breeze. 


48 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


^‘Nine barrels — not bad for the last night/* said 
Christian. 

“ Souse them well/* said Kisseck, and Davy Corteen 
sprinkled salt on the herrings as they lay in the hold. 

Mark Crennel, who acted as slushy, otherwise cook, 
came up from below with a huge saucepan, which he 
filled with the fish. As he did so, the ear was conscious 
of a faint ‘‘cheep, cheep** — the herrings were still 
alive. 

All hands then went below for a smoke, except the 
man at the tiller, and Kisseck and Christian, who stood 
talking at the bow. It is true that Danny Fayle lay on 
the deck, but the lad was hardly an entity. His uncle 
and Christian heeded him not at all, yet Danny heard 
their conversation, and, without thought of mischief, 
remembered what he heard. 

Christian was talking earnestly of some impending 
disaster, of debts, and the near approach of the time 
when his father must be told. 

“ I*ve put that man off time after time,** he said ; 
“ he*ll not wait much longer, and then — God help us 
all ! ** 

Kisseck laughed. “ Yaii*iFe allis in Paddy *s hurricane 
— right up and down,** he said, jerringly. “ Yer raely 
wuss till ever.** 

“ I tell you, the storm is coming,** said Christian, 
with some vexation. 

“ Then keep your weather eye liftin*, that*s all,’* said 
Kisseck, loftily. 

Christian turned aside with an impatient gesture. 
After a pause he said, “ You wouldn’t talk to me 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


4 $* 


that, Kisseck, if I hadn’t been a weak fool with you. 
It’s a true saying that when you tell your servant your 
secret you make him your master.” 

Then Kisseck altered his manner and became suave. 

“What’s to be done? ’’said Christian, irritated at 
some humiliating compliments. 

“I’ve somethin’ terrible fine up here,” said Kisseck, 
tapping his forehead mysteriously. Christian smiled 
rather doubtfully. 

“ It’ll get you out of this shoal water, anyhow,” said 
the skipper. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Christian. 

“ The tack we’ve been on lately isn’t worth workin*. 
It isn’t what it was in the good ould days, when the 
Frenchmen and the Dutchmen came along with the 
Injin and Chinee goods, and we just run along-side in 
wherries and whipped them up. Too many hands at 
the trade now.” 

“ So, smuggling, like everything else, has gone to the 
dogs,” said Christian, with another grim smile. 

“ But I’ve a big consarn on now,” whispered Kisseck^ 

“What?” 

“ Och, a shockin’ powerful skame ! Listen ! ” 

And Kisseck whispered again in Christian’s eaa:, but 
the words escaped Danny. 

“ No, no, that’ll not do,” said Christian, emphati- 
cally. 

“ Aw, and why not at all?” 

“ Why not ? Why not ? Because it’s murder, noth- 
ing less.” 

“ Now, what’s the use of sayin’ the lek o* that. Aw, 
4 


50 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


the shockin’ notions. Well, well, and do ye raely think 
a person’s got no feelin’s ? Murder ? Aw, well now, 
well now ! I didn’t think it of you, Christian, that I 
didn’t.” 

And Kisseck took a step or two up and down the deck 
with the air of an injured man. 

Just then Crennel, the cook, came up to say breakfast 
was ready. All hands, save the man at the tiller, went 
below. A huge dish of herrings and a similar dish of 
potatoes stood on the table. Each man dipped in with 
his hands, lifted his herrings on to his plate, ran his 
fingers from tail to head, swept all the flesh off the fresh 
fish, and threw away the bare backbone. Such was the 
breakfast ; and while it was being eaten there was much 
chaff among the men at Danny Fayle’s expense. It 
was — 

‘‘ Aw, you wouldn’t think it^s true, would ye now? ” 

‘‘ And what’s that ? ” with a ‘‘ glime ” at Danny. 

‘‘Why, that the lek o’ yander is tackin’ round the 
gels.” 

“ Do ye raely mane it? ” 

“Yes, though, and sniffin’ and snuffin’ abaft of them 
astonishin’.” 

“Aw, well, well, well.” 

Not a sign from Danny. 

“ Yes, yes, the craythur’s doin’ somethin’ in the 
spoony line,” said Kisseck. “ Him as hasn’t got the 
hayseed out of his hair yet.” 

“And who’s the lady, Danny?” asked Christian, 
with a smile. 

Danny was silent. 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


51 


Why, who else but that gel of Kinvig’s, Mona 
Cregeen,” said Kisseck. 

Christian dropped his herring. 

Aw, well,” said Tommy Tear, d’ye mane that gal 
on the brew with the widda, and the wee craythur ? ” 

“ Yes, the little skite and the ould sukee, the 
mawther,” said Kisseck. 

Davy Cain pretended to come to Danny’s relief. 

And a raal good gel, anyhow, Danny,” he said 
in a patronizing way. 

Amazin’ thick they are. Oh, ay, Danny got to the 
lee of her — takes a cup of tay up there, and the like of 
that.” 

Aw, well, it isn’t raisonable but the lad should be 
coortin’ some gel now,” said Davy. 

What’s that? ” shouted Kisseck, dropping the ban- 
ter rather suddenly. ‘‘What, and not a farthin’ at 
him ? And owin’ me a fortune for the bringin’ up ? ” 

“ No matter. Bill, and don’t ride a man down like a 
maintack. One of these fine mornings Danny will be 
payin’ his debt to you with the fore-topsail.” 

“ And look at him there,” said Tommy Tear, reach- 
ing round Davy Cain to prod Danny in the ribs — “ look 
at him pretendin’ he never knows nothin’.” 

But the big tears were near to toppling out of 
Danny’s eyes. He got up, and leaving his unfinished 
breakfast, began to climb the hatchways. 

“ Aw, now, look at that,” cried Tommy Tear, with 
affected solemnity. 

Davy Cain followed Danny, put an arm round his 
waist, and tried to draw him back. “ Don’t mind the 


62 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


loblolly-boys, Danny veg,” said Davy, coaxingly, 
Danny pushed him away with an angry word. 

What’s that he said? ” asked Kisseck. 

Nothin’ ; he only cussed a bit,” said Davy. 

Christian got up too. I’ll tell you what it is, 
mates,” he said, ‘‘there’s not a man among you. 
You’re a lot of skulking cowards.” 

And Christian jumped on deck. 

“ What’s agate of the young masther at all, at all ?” 

Then followed some talk of the herring Meailley 
(harvest home), which was to be celebrated that night at 
the Jolly Herrings. 

When the boats ran into Peel harbor, of course 
Tommy-Bill-beg was on the quay, shouting at this man 
and that. As each boat got into its moorings the men 
set off to their owner’s house for a final squaring up of 
the season’s accounts. Kerruish and his men, with 
Christian, walked up to Balladhoo. Danny was sent 
hpme by his uncle. The men laughed, but the lad was 
accustomed to be ignored in these reckonings. His 
share never yet reached him. The wives of the fisher- 
men had come down on this occasion, and they went off 
with their husbands — Bridget, Kisseck ’s wife, being 
among them. 

When they got to Balladhoo the calculation was made. 
The boat had earned in all three hundred pounds. Of 
this the master took four shares for himself and his nets, 
the owner eight shares, every man two shares, a share for 
the boy, and a share for the boat. The men grumbled 
when Christian took up his two shares like another man. 
He asked if he had not done a man’s work. They an- 


SHE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


53 


swered that he had kept a regular fisherman off the boat. 
Kisseck grumbled also; said he brought home three 
hundred pounds and got less than thirty pounds of it. 
‘‘The provisioning has cost too much,” said Mylrea 
Balladhoo. “ Your tea is at four shillings a pound, be- 
sides fresh meat and 6ne-flour biscuits. What can you 
expect?” Christian offered to give half his share to 
the man whose berth he took, and the other half to 
Danny Fayle. This quieted Kisseck, but the others 
laughed and muttered among themselves, “Two more' 
shares for Kisseck.” 

Then the men, closely encircled by their wives, 
moved off. 

“ Remember the Meailley / ” 

“ To-night. Aw, sure, sure ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“SEEMS TO ME IT’s ALL NATHUR.” 

When Danny left the boat he threw his oil-skins over 
his arm and trudged along the quay. Bill Kisseck^s 
cottage stood alone under the Horse Hill, and to get to 
it Danny had to walk round by the bridge that crossed 
the river. On the way thither he met Ruby Cregreen, 
red with running. She had sighted the boats from the 
cottage on the hill, and was hurrying down to see them 
come into harbor. The little woman was looking this 
morning like something between a glint of sunshine and 
a flash of quicksilver. On the way down she had 
pulled three stalks of the foxglove bell, and stuck them 
jauntily in her hat, their long swan-like necks drooping 


54 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 


over her sunny face. She had come too late for her pur- 
pose, but Danny took her hand and said he would see 
her back before going off home to bed. The little one 
prattled every inch of the way. 

** Did you catch many herrings, Danny? 

Nine barrels.” 

Isn’t it cruel to catch herrings ? ” 

Why cruel. Ruby ven ? ” 

I don’t know. Don’t the herrings want to stay in 
the water, Danny?” 

Lave them alone for that. You should see the 
shoals of them lying round the nets, watching the 
others — their mother and sisters, as you might say — 
who’ve got their gills ’tangled. And when you haul the 
net up, away they go at a slant in millions and millions — 
just like lightning firing through the water. Och, ’deed 
now they’ve got their feelings same as anybody else. 
Yes, yes, yes ! ” 

What a shame ! ” 

‘‘What’s a shame, Ruby? What a solium face, 
though.” 

“ Why, to catch them.” 

Danny looked puzzled. He was obviously reasoning 
out a great problem. 

“Well, woman, that’s the mortal strange part of it. 
It does look cruel, sarten sure, but then the herring 
themselves catch the sand-eels, and the cod catch the 
herrings, and the porpoises and grampuses catch the cod. 
Aw, that’s the truth, little big-eyes. It’s wonderful 
strange, but I suppose it’s all nathur. You see. Ruby 
veg, we do the same ourselves.” 


SHS^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


55 


Ruby looks horrified. How do you mean, Danny? 
We don’t eat one another.” 

Oh, don’t we, though? leave us alone for that.” 

Ruby is aghast. 

Well, of coorse, not to say ate, not ’xactly but 
the biggest chap allis rigs the rest. And the next biggest 
chap allis rigs a littler one, you know ; and the littlest 
chap he gets rigged by everybody all round, doesn’t 
he?” 

Danny had clearly got a grip of the problem, but his 
poor simple face looked sadly burdened. 

Seems to me it must be all nathur somehow, Ruby.” 

Do you think it is, Danny? ” 

Well, well — I do, you know,’^ with a grave shake 
of the head over this summary of the philosophy of life. 

Then nature is very cruel, and I don’t love it.” 

Cruel? well, pozzible, pozzible; it does make me 
fit to cry a bit; but it must be nathur somehow. Ruby.” 

Danny’s eyes were looking very hazy, when the little 
one, who didn’t love nature, caught sight of some corn- 
poppies and bounded after them. ‘‘ The darlings ! oh 
the loves ! ” And one or two were immediately inter- 
twined with the foxgloves in the hat. 

Just then Mona came down the hill. Danny saw her 
at a distance, but gave no sign. He contrived to lead 
Ruby to the other side of the road from that on which 
Mona was walking, so that when they came abreast there 
was a dozen yards between them. Mona stopped- 

Good-morning, Danny.” 

Danny’s eyes were on his heavy sea-boots, and he did 
not answer. 


56 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


‘‘Why, it’s only Mona,” cried Ruby, tugging at 
Danny’s oil-skins. 

Mona crossed the road, and Danny ventured to lift his 
eyes to the level of her neck. Then she asked about the 
fishing. Danny answered in monosyllables. She col- 
ored slightly, and spoke of Christian being in the boat. 
“ Strange, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ Seems to me,” answered Danny, “that there’s some- 
thin’ afoot between Uncle Bill and the young masther.” 

Mona’s curiosity was aroused by the reply, and she 
probed Danny with searching questions. Then he told 
her of the conversation on the deck that morning. She 
perceived that mischief was brewing. Yet Danny could 
give her nothing that served as a clew. If only some 
one of sharper wit could overhear such a conversation 
then perhaps the mischief might be prevented. Sud- 
denly Mona conceived a daring idea, which was partly 
suggested by the sight of and old disused barn that stood 
in a field close at hand. 

“Everybody is talking of some supper to-night to fin- 
ish the season. Will Christian be there? ” 

“ I heard him say so,” said Danny. 

“ And your uncle, Bill Kisseck ? ” 

“Aw, ’deed, for sure. He’s allis where there’s guz- 
zlin’.” 

“ Could you lend me your oil-skins, Danny ? 

Danny looked puzzled. Mona smiled in his troubled 
face. “ Do, that’s a good Danny,” she said, taking his 
big rough hand. Danny drew it away. 

“ Yes,” he said, looking vacantly over the sea. 

Then they arranged that the oil-skins and cap with a 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


57 


pair of sea-boots were to be left in the barn, and that 
aot a word was to be said to a living soul about them. 

‘‘Good-bye,” said Mona, holding out her hand. 

It was not at first that Danny realized what he ought 
to do when a lady offered her hand. Having taken it, 
he did not quite know what it was right to do next. So 
he held it a moment and lifted his eyes to hers. “ Good- 
bye, Danny,” she said, and there was a tremor in her 
voice. 

She had gone — Danny never knew how. He walked 
a little farther with Ruby, who pranced and sang. On 
the way home he stopped and repeated to himself in a 
whisper, “Mona, Mona, Mona.” He looked at his 
hand. It was coarse and horny. He lifted it to his lips 
and kissed it. Then he began to run. Suddenly he 
stopped, and muttered, “ But what for did she want the 
oil-skins? ” 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE HERRING MEAILLEY. 

There was high sport at the Jolly Herrings that night. 
Christian Mylrea was there, more than half ashamed of 
his surroundings, but too amiably irresolute, as usual, to 
imperil by absence from this annual gathering his old 
reputation for good-fellowship. 

“ Aw, the gentleman he is, isn’t he? And him 
straight from Oxford College, too,” 

“ What’s that they’re sayin’ ? Oxford College? Och, 
no; not that at all.” 


58 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


** But the fine English tongue at him, anyway. It’s 
just a pleasure to hear him spake. Smooth as oil, and 
sweet astonishin*. Bill Kisseck — I say. Bill, there — why 
didn’t you put up the young masther for the chair? ” 

“Aw, lave me alone,” answered Kisseck, with a con- 
temptuous toss of the head. Him an’ me’s same as 
brothers.” 

“ Bill’s proud uncommon of the masther, and middlin’ 
jealous too. Aw, well ! who’s wonderin’ at it? ” 

“ It’s a bit free them chaps are making,” whispered 
Kisseck to Christian. Then rising to his feet with 
gravity, “Gentlemen,” he said, “what d’ye say to 
Misther Christian Mylrea Balladhoo for the elber chair 
yander ? ” 

“ Hooraa ! Hooraa ! ” 

Kisseck resumed his seat with a lofty glance of patron- 
age at the men about him, which said, as plainly as 
words themselves, “ I tould ye to lave it all to me.” 

“ Proud ? d’ye say. Look at him,” whispered Davy 
Cain. 

The Jolly Herrings was perhaps the most ludicrous 
and incongruous house of entertainment of which history 
records any veracious record. It was a very gurgoil on 
the fair fabric of the earth, except that it served the op- 
posite uses of attracting rather than banishing the evil 
spirits about it. Thirty-five years ago it was to be found 
near the bottom of the narrow, crabbed little thorough- 
fare that wind and twists and descends to that part of 
the quay which overlooks the ruins of the castle. The 
gloomy pothouse was entered by a little porch. Two 
steps down led you into a room that was half parlor and 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


59 


half bar, and where only the fumes of tobacco-smoke 
were usually visible. Two more steps led you to an in- 
ner and much larger room, that was practicalfy kitchen, 
living room, and room of special entertainment. This 
was the apartment in which the herring supper was 
always given. What a paradox the place was ! All that 
belonged to the room itself was of the rudest and mean- 
est kind. The floor was paved with stones, the walls 
were sparsely plastered, the ceiling was the bare wood 
hewn straight from the tree. But over these indications 
of poverty there was an extraordinary display of curious 
wealth. The little window behind Christian in his el- 
ber-chair was glazed with a rich piece of stained glass 
that had the Madonna and child for subject. The 
elbow-chair itself was of old oak deeply carved and 
bound with clamps of engraved brass. Bill Kisseck, 
who by virtue of his office sat at the opposite end of the 
table, occupied a small settee covered with gorgeous 
crimson velvet. On the mantel-piece were huddled 
in luxurious confusion sundry brass censers, mediaeval 
lamps, and an ivory crucifix. On the wall, and beside 
a piece of marble carved with a medallion, hung a skate 
that had been cut open to dry. A pair of bellows lay 
on an antique chest in the ingle. Into the mouth of the 
censers a bundle of pipe-lights had been methodically 
arranged. A ponderous silver watch hung round the 
arms of the crucifix, and a frying-pan was suspended in 
the reveal of the window that was consecrated to the 
Madonna. 

Such was the kitchen and state-room of the Jolly Her- 
rings ; and no apartment ever spoke more plainly to those 


500 SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 

who had ears to hear of the character and habits of its 
owners. The house was kept by a woman who was 
thin, wrinkled, and blear-eyed ; and by a man who was 
'equally thin and no less wrinkled, but had quick, sus- 
picious eyes, and a few spiky gray hairs about the chin 
that resembled the whiskers of a cat. As husband and 
wife this couple hold the little pothouse ; but long years 
after the events now being narrated, it was discovered 
that husband and wife had both been women. 

What sport ! What noisy laughter ! What singing 
and rollicking cheers ! The men stood neither on the 
order of their coming nor their going, their sitting nor 
their standing. They wore their caps or not as pleased 
them, they sang or talked as suited them, they laughed 
or sneezed, they sulked or snarled, were noisy or silent 
precisely as the whim of the individual prescribed the in- 
dividual rule of manners. The chair at the Jolly Her- 
rings was a position of more distinction than duty, and it 
was numbered among Christian’s virtues that he had never 
attempted to exercise an arbitrary control over the lib- 
erties of free-born Manxmen. Jest or jeer, fun or fight, 
were alike free of the gathering where he presided ; but 
everything had to be in conscience and reason, for 
Christian drew the line rigidly at marline-spikes and be- 
laying-pins. 

Tommy-Bill-beg was there, and a fine scorn sat on his 
face. The reason of this was that, as a mistaken tribute 
to music, Jemmy Balladhoo had also been invited, and 
was sitting with his fiddle directly in front of the harbor- 
master, * though that worthy disdained to take notice of 
the humiliating proximity. Danny Fayle was there. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO 3IE. 


61 ; 


The lad sat quietly and meekly on a form near the 
door. 

The supper was lifted direct on to the table from the 
pans and boilers that simmered on the hearth. First 
came the broth well loaded with barley and cabbage^ 
but not destitute of the flavor of two sheep’s heads. 
Then the suet pudding, round as a well-fed salmon and 
as long as a twenty-pound cod. After this came three 
legs of boiled mutton and a square block of roast beef. 
Last of all the frying-pan was taken from the niche of 
the Madonna, and two or three dozen of fresh herrings 
were made to frizzle and crackle and bark and sputter 
over the fire. 

Away went the dishes, away went the cloth, an oil 
lamp \vith its open mouth — a relic, perhaps, of some 
monkish sanctuary of the Middle Ages — was lifted from 
the mantel-piece and put on the table for the receipt of 
customs ; the censer with the spills was placed beside it, 
pipes emerged from waistcoat-pockets, and pots of liquor 
with glasses and bottles came in from the outer bar. 

‘‘Is it heavy on the beer you’re goin* to be. Bill?” 
said Davy Cain. 

Kisseck replied with a superior smile and the lifting 
up of a whiskey bottle from which he had just drawn the 
cork. 

Then came the toasts. The chairman rose, amid 
“ Hip, hip, hooraa,” to give “ Life to man and death to 
fish.” Kisseck gave “Death to the head that never 
wore hair.” Tommy-Bill-beg responded to loud re- 
quests for “The Ladies.” He reminded the company 
of the old saying, “No herring, no wedding;” and 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


then, with some pardonable discursiveness, he said he 
was terrible glad ” to have the fleet around Peel, and 
not away in those outlandish foreign parts, Kinsale and 
Scotland ; for when they were there he felt like the 
chairman’s namesake, Christian, in the ‘‘Pilgrim’s 
Progress.” “ And what is it he is saying in the good 
ould Book?” exclaimed Tommy — “‘My occipation’s 
gone ! ’ ” 

Then came more liquor and some singing. Christian 
sang too. He sang “Black-eyed Sue,” amid audible 
sobs. 

“ The voice he has, anyway; and the loud it is, and 
the tender, and the way he sliddhers up and down, and 
no squeaks and jumps ; no, no, nothin’ lek squeezin’ a 
tune out of an ould sow by pulling the tail at her, and a 
sorter of a rippin’ up yer innards to get the hook out of 
yer gills.” 

“Aw, lovely he sung — lovely, uncommon.” 

“ Well, I tould you so. I allis said it.” 

Kisseck listened to this dialogue at his end of the table 
with a lofty smile. “ It’s nothin’,” he said, condescend- 
ingly. “That’s nothin’. You should hear him out on 
the boat, when we’re lyin’ at anchor, and me and him 
together, and the stars just makin’ a peep, and the moon, 
and the mar-fire, and all to that, and me and him lyin’ 
aft and smookin’ and having a glass maybe ; but nothin’ 
to do no harm at all — that’s when you should hear him.” 

“ More liquor there, ” shouted Tommy-Bill-beg, climb- 
ing with difficulty to his feet — “more liquor for the 
chair. And for some one beside — is that what they’re 
saying ? Well, look here ! bad sess to it — of coorse. 


SHE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


63 


some for me too. It’s terrible good for the narves, and 
they’re telling me it’s mortal good forstuddyin* the vice. 
What’s that from the chair ? Enemy — eh ? Confound 
it, that’s true, though. What’s that it’s saying — ‘ Who’s 
fool enough to put the enemy into his mouth to stale 
away his brains ? ’ Aw, now, it’s the good ould Book 
that’s fine at summin’ it all up.” 

Still more liquor, and Jemmy Balladhoo comes forth 
with his fiddle. Immediate and complete capitulation of 
Tommy-Bill-beg ensues. The harbor-master never yet 
heard a squeak from his rival’s fiddle ; but the bare idea 
that Jemmy Quark Balladhoo should play it was really 
of itself too ridiculous. 

‘‘Aw, the rispen and the raspen. It’s the moo of a 
cow he’s on for making now. No? Then it’s the 
sweet hoot of the donkey. Not that ? Och, then it’s 
safe to be the grunt of Jemmy’s ould pig, anyways.” 

The violinist had by this time finished an elaborate 
movement, and called on the chairman to tell the com- 
pany what it was. Christian, who had been hard put-to 
to preserve his gravity during the extraordinary musical 
display, and had not the very vaguest idea of what it 
was supposed to stand for, thought to get out of the dif- 
ficulty by flattering the performer. “ Oh, that ? — what’s 
that you say? — oh, of course — why that’s, of course, 
the Pastoral Symphony from the ‘ Messiah.’ ” 

“Not at all,” shouted the irate fiddler, “it’s ‘Rule 
Britannia ! ’ ” 

Still more noise and more liquor, and a good deal of 
both in the vicinity of the chair. Kisseck, who had 
drunk heavily, struggled his way to the head of the table. 


64 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


There were several strangers present, for it was the 
custom to welcome as many of the Cornish, Irish, oi 
Scotch fishermen as happened to be at Peel and cared to 
join in the dubious thanksgiving, in the form of a noisy 
orgie. Among the rest was a young fellow in oil-skins 
and a glengarie, which, being several sizes too big for 
him, fell low over his forehead and almost covered bis 
eyes. He sat near to Christian, drank little, and spoke 
not at all. When Kisseck made his way to Christian’s 
side he had to pass this stranger. Who have we here 
at all?” he said, trying to tip up the glengarie. The 
young fellow’s well timed jerk of the head defeated 
Kisseck’s tipsy intention. 

“ Aw, Christian, man,” said Kisseck in a whisper 
that was scarcely pitched with prudent moderation even 
in that tumultuous assembly, it’s a nice nate berth I’ve 
found for us at last — nice, extraordinary.” Christian 
motioned his head in the direction of the young 
stranger; but heedless of the warning Kisseck con- 
tinued, ‘‘No need goin’ messin’ around graves in the 
ould castle and all to that. And it isn’t religious as you 
were sayin’, and I’m one that stands up for religion, 
and singin* hymns at whiles, and a bit of a spell at the 
ould Book sometimes. Aw, yes, though I am — 
(Louder.) Look here ! D’ye hear down yander. Give 
us a swipe of them sperrits. Right. Let us fill up your 
glass, Christian. (Coming closer.) Aw, as I was 
sayin*, it’s in the Poolvash — Lockjaw they’re callin’ it 
now, and as nate as nate for stowin’ a box of tay or a 
roll of silk or lace, or maybe a keg of brandy, and no 
one never knowin’ nothin’.” 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 6S 

The young fellow in oil-skins had dropped his empty 
pewter at that moment, and it rolled behind Christian’s 
chair. As he stooped to recover it the chairman wheeled 
round to give him room, and coming up again, their 
eyes met for an instant. Christian made a percepti- 
ble start. ‘‘Strange, at least,” he muttered to him- 
self. 

More liquor and yet more, till the mouth of the 
monastic lamp ran over with chinking coin. 

“ Silence ! ” shouted Bill Kisseck, struggling up to 
speak. “Aisy there! Here’s to Christian Mylrea 
Balladhoo; and when he gets among them Kays I’m 
calkerlatin’ it’ll be all up with the lot o’ them, and their 
laws agen honest tradin’, and their by-laws agen the 
countin’ of the herrin’, and their new copper money, 
and all the rest of their messin’. What d’ye say, men? 
And what’s that you’re grinnin’ and winkin’ at, Davy 
Cain ? It’s middlin’ free you’re gettin’ with the masther 
anyhow, and if it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t bemane 
himself by cornin’ among the lek of you, singin’ and 
makin’ aisy. Chaps, fill up your glasses, every man of 
you, d’ye hear ? Here’s to the best gentleman in the 
island, bar none — hip, hip, hooraa ! ” 

Among the few who had not responded with becoming 
alacrity to Kisseck ’s request was the young stranger. 
Observing this as he shuffled back to his seat, Kisseck 
reached over and struck at the glengarie, which tumbled 
on the floor, and revealed a comely face and a rich mass 
of auburn hair. The stranger rose at this indignity and 
made his way to the door. When he got there Danny 
Fayle, who was leaning against the door-jamb, looked 
5 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


C6 

closely into his face and reeled back with a startled cry. 
The stranger was gone the next instant. 

“See yander. What’s agate of the lad?*’ cried 
Kisseck. And every one turned to Danny, whose 
cheeks were as pale as death. “ What’s it that’s ailin’ 
you at all? ” shouted Kisseck. 

“I — I thought it was — was — a woman stammered 
Danny, with eyes still fixed on the door. 

Loud peals of laughter followed. But wait — what was 
now going on at the head of the table ! When the 
stranger rose, Christian had risen too. It was the mo* 
ment to respond to the toast, but Christian glared wildly 
about him with a tongue that seemed to cleave to his 
mouth. His glass fell from his fingers. Every eye was 
fixed on his face. That face quivered and turned white. 
Laughter died away on the lip, and the voices were 
hushed. At last Christian spoke. His words came 
slowly, and fell on the ear like the clank of a chain 
across snow. 

“ Men,” he said, “you’ve been drinking my health. 
You call me a good fellow. That’s wrong. I’m the 
worst man among you.” (Murmurs of dissent and some 
faint smiles of incredulity.) “ Bill says I’m going to 
the House of Keys one of these days. That’s wrong too. 
Shall I tell you where I am going ? ” (Christian put one 
hand up to his head ; you could see the throbbing of 
his temples.) “ Shall I tell you? ” he cried in a hollow 
voice and with staring eyes ; “I’m going to the devil,’* 
and amid the breathless silence he dropped back in h® 
seat and buried his head in his hands. 

No one spoke. The fair hair lay on the table among 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 6 

broken pipes and the refuse of spilled beer. Then 
every man rose to his feet. There could be no more 
drinking to-night. One after one shambled out. In 
two minutes the room was empty except for the stricken 
man, who lay there with hidden face, and Danny Fayle, 
who, with a big glistening tear in his eye, was stroking 
the tangled curls. 

Strange now, wasn’t it? — strange, uncommon! 
He’s been heavy on the beer lately they’re tellin’ me. 
Well, well, it isn’t right, and him a gentleman. Not lek 
as if he was one of us.” 

And goin’ to be a parson, too, so they’re sayin’. 
It’s middlin’ wicked anyway, and no disrespec’. Oie 
vie! Good -night I ” 

Pazon, is it ?” says Tommy-Bill-beg. Never a 
pazon will they make of his mother’s son. What’s that 
they’re saying’, ^ Never no duck wasn’t hatched by a 
drake.’ ” 


CHAPTER X. 

THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA.” 

Two months passed away, and the mists from the sea 
were chased by the winds of winter. It was the twenty- 
third of December. In the two days that followed be- 
tween that day and Christmas morning occurred the 
whole series of appalling events which it now remains to 
us to narrate. 

Mona Cregeen and Danny Fayle, with Ruby between 
them, were walking along the shore from Orry’s Head 


68 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


towards the south. The little one prattled and sang, 
shook out her hair in the wind, and flew down the sand ; 
ran back and clasped a hand of each; and dragged 
Danny aside to look at this sea-weed, or pulled Mona 
along to look at that shell ; tripped down to the water's 
edge until the big waves touched her boots, and then 
back once more with a half-frightened, half-affected 
laughter-loaded scream. 

Mona was serious and even sad, and Danny wore a 
dejected look in his simple face which added a melan- 
choly interest to its vacant expression. Since we saw 
him first in the house of Mylrea Balladhoo, Danny had 
passed through a bitter experience. There was no 
tangible sorrow, yet who shall measure the depth of his 
suffering ? 

When the new element of love first entered into 
Danny’s life, he knew nothing of what it was. A glance 
out of woman’s eyes had in an instant penetrated his 
nature. He was helpless and passive. He would stand 
for an hour neither thinking nor feeling, but with a look 
of sheer stupidity. If this was love, Danny knew it by 
no such name. But presently a ray of sunlight floated 
into the lad’s poor, dense intelligence, and everything 
around was bathed in a new, glad light. The vacant 
look died away from his face. He smiled and laughed. 
He ran here and there with a jovial willingness. Even 
Kisseck’s sneers and curses, his threats and blows, be- 
came all at once easier to bear. ‘‘Be aisy with me. 
Uncle Bill,” he would say ; “ be aisy, uncle, and I’ll do 
it smart and quick astonishin’.” People marked the 
change. “It’s none so daft the lad is at all, at all,” 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


69 


they said sometimes. This was the second stage of 
Danny’s passion — and presently came the third. Then 
arose a vague yearning not only to love but to be loved. 
The satisfied heart had not asked so much before, but 
now it needed this further sustenance. Curious and 
pathetic were the simple appeals made by Danny for the 
affection of the woman he loved. Sometimes he took up 
a huge fish to the cottage of the Cregeens, threw it on 
the floor, and vanished. Sometimes he talked to Mona 
of what great things he had done in his time — what fish 
he had caught, how fast he had rowed, and what 
weather he had faced. There was not a lad in Peel 
more modest than Danny, but his simple soul was 
struggling in this way with a desire to make itself seem 
worthy of Mona’s love. The girl would listen in silence 
to the accounts of his daring deeds, and when she 
would look up with a glance of pity into his animated 
eyes, the eyes of Danny would be brave no more, but 
fall in confusion to his feet. 

Then, bit by bit, it was borne in on Danny that his 
great, strong, simple love could never be returned ; and 
this was the last stage of his affection. The idea of love 
had itself been hard to realize, but much harder to 
understand was the strange and solemn idea of unre- 
quited passion. Twenty times had Mona tried in vain 
to convey this idea to his mind without doing violence 
to the tenderness of the lad’s nature. But that which 
no artifice could achieve time itself accomplished. 
Danny began to stay away from the cottage on the 
“ brew,” and when, in pity for that unspeakable sorrow 
which Mona herself knew but too well, the girl asked 


70 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


kirn why he did not come up as often as before, he an- 
swered, ‘^I’m thinking it’s not me you’re wanting up 
there. ’ ’ And Danny felt as if the words would choke him. 

Then the whole world, which had seemed brighter, or 
at least less cruel, became bathed in gloom. The lad 
haunted the sea shore. The moan of the long dead sea 
seemed to speak to him in a voice not indeed of cheer 
but of comforting grief. The white curves of the 
breakers had something in them that suited better with 
his mood than the sunlit ripples of a summer sea. The 
dapple-gray clouds that scudded across the leaden sky, 
the chill wind that scattered the salt spray and whistled 
along the gunwale of his boat, the mist, the scream of 
the sea-bird — all these spoke to his desolate heart in an 
inarticulate language that was answered by tears. 

Poor Danny, a hurricane had uprooted the only idol 
of your soul, and for you the one flower of life, the flower 
of love, was torn up and withered forever ! 

Love ? Yes, even the image of a happy love had at 
length stood up for one moment before his mind, even 
before his mind. That love itself might have been pos- 
sible to him, yes, possible to such a one as he was, 
though laughed at — rigged” as he called it — here, 
there, and everywhere — this was the blessed vision of 
one brief instant. He thought of how he might have 
clasped her hands by the bright sea, and looked lovingly 
into her eyes. But no, no, no ; not for him had God 
sent the gracious love, and Danny turned in his dumb 
despair to the cold winter sea, shrinking from every hu- 
man face. 

‘‘Is there not a storm coming?” said Mona to 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


71 


Danny, as she and Ruby overtook the boy on the shore 
that morning. 

‘‘ Ay, the long cat’s tail was going off at a slant a 
while ago, and now the round thick skate yonder is 
hanging very low.” 

As he spoke, Danny turned about and looked at the 
clouds which we have been taught to know by less 
homely names. 

Danny, Danny,” interrupted the little one, ‘‘what 
is that funny thing you told me the sailors say when the 
wind is getting up? ” 

‘“Davy’s putting on the coppers for the parson,* ” 
answered the lad, absently, and without the semblance 
of a smile. For the twentieth time Ruby laughed and 
crowed over the dubious epigram. 

Mona glanced sometimes at Danny’s listless face as they 
walked together along the shore with the child between 
them. His look was dull and at certain moments even 
silly. Once she thought she saw a tear glistening in his 
eye, but he had turned his head away in an instant. 
There were moments when her heart bled for him. 
People thought her harsh and even cynical. ‘ ‘ Aw, allis 
cowld and freezin’ is the air she keeps about her,” they 
would say. Perhaps some bitter experience of the past 
had not a little to do with this. Nothing so sure to pet- 
rify the warmer sensibilities as neglect and wrong. But 
in the presence of Danny’s silent sorrow the girl’s heart 
melted, and the almost habitual upward curve at one 
corner of her mouth disappeared. She knew something 
of his suffering. She could read it in her own. At 
some thrilling moment, if Heaven had so ordered it, they 


72 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


two, she and this simple lad, might have uncovered to 
the other the bleeding wound that each carried hidden 
in the breast. And that great moment was yet to come, 
though she knew it not. 

Love is a selfish thing, let us say what we will of it 
besides. 

Danny, said Mona, ^^have you seen anything 
more of Christian ? ** 

‘‘Yes,** said the lad. Some momentary remorse on 
Mona*s part compelled her to glance into Danny*s face. 
There was no trace of feeling there. It was baffled love, 
and not jealousy, that had taken the joy out of Danny*s 
life. And as yet the lad had not once reflected that if 
Mona did not love him it was, perhaps, because she 
loved another. 

“ He isn*t going,** continued Danny. 

“Thank God,** said Mona, fervently. “ And Kis- 
seek, does he still mean to go ? ** 

“Ay, of coorse he*s going. It’ll be to-morrow, it 
seems. Tm to go, too.** 

“ Danny, you must not go,** said Mona, dropping 
Ruby’s hand to take hold of the lad’s arm. He glanced 
up vacantly. 

“ Seems to me it doesn’t matter much what I do,” he 
said. 

“ But it does matter, Danny. What these men are at- 
tempting is crime — black, cruel, pitiless crime — murder, 
no less.” 

“That’s what the young masther was sayin*,” an- 
swered the lad, absently ; “ and the one of them hadn’t 
a word to say agen it.” 


SHE’S ALL THE WOELD TO ME. 


73 


Ruby had tripped away for a moment. Returning 
with a little oval thing in her hand, she cried, Danny, 
what’s this ? I found it under a stone, and its gills were 
shining like fire.” 

‘‘ A sea-mouse,” said the lad, and taking it out of the 
child’s hand, he added, I’m less nor this worm to our 
Bill.” 

“ Danny, would it hurt you much if you were to hear 
that your uncle Kisseck was being punished? ” 

The lad lifted his eyes with a bewildered stare. The 
idea that Bill Kisseck could be punished had never 
really come to him as within the limits of possibility. 
Once, indeed, he had thought of something that he 
might himself do, but the wild notion had vanished 
with the next glance at Kisseck’ s face. 

‘‘ He could be punished,” said Mona, and must be.” 

Then Danny’s eyes glittered and looked strange, but 
he said not a word. They walked on, the happy child 
once more taking a hand from each, and laughing, 
prattling, leaping, and making little runs between them. 
Ruby was in a deeper sense the link that bound them, 
and in the deepest sense of all she was the link that held 
them apart forever. They had walked to the mouth of 
the harbor, and Mona held out her hand to say good- 
bye. Danny looked beyond her over the sea. There 
was something in his face that Mona had never before 
seen there. What it meant she knew not then, except that 
in a moment he had grown to look old. ** The stoi*m is 
coming,” said Mona. ‘‘I see the diver out at sea. 
Do you hear his wild note ? ” 

Ay, and ye see Mother Carey’s chicken yonder,” 


74 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


said Danny, pointing where the stormy petrel was scud- 
ding close to a white wave and uttering a dismal cry. 
Then, absently and in a low tone, ‘‘ I think at whiles 
rd like to die in a big sea like that,’’ said the lad. 

Mona looked for a moment in silence into the lad’s 
hopeless eyes. Danny turned back with his hand in his 
pockets and his face towards the sand. 

Truly a storm was coming, and it was a storm more 
terrible than wind and rain. 

Mona and Ruby continued their walk. It was the 
slack season at the factory, and Mr. Kinvig’s jewel in 
looms was compelled to stand idle three working days 
out of the six. The young woman and the child passed 
down the quay to the bridge, crossed to the foot of the 
Horse Hill, and walked along the south side of the har- 
bor — now full of idle luggers — towards Contrary Head. 
When they reached the narrow strait which cut off the 
Castle Isle from the main-land, they took a path that led 
upward over Contrary Head. A little way up the hill 
they passed Bill Kisseck’s cottage. The house stood on 
a wild headland, and faced nothing but the ruined 
castle and the open sea. An old quarry had once been 
worked on the spot, and Kisseck’s cottage stood with its 
front to what must have been the level cutting, and its 
back to the straight wall of rock. A path wound round 
the house and came close to the edge of the little prec- 
ipice. Mona took this path, and as they walked past 
the back part of the roof a woman’s head looked out of 
a little dormered window that stood in the thatch. 

‘‘Good-morning, Bridget,” said Mona, cheerfully. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


76 


'‘Good-mornin’,” answered Bridget, morosely. 
middlin’ cowld, isn’t it, missis, for you and that poor 
babby to be walkin’ up there? ” 

‘‘It’s a sharp morning, but we’re strong and well^ 
Ruby and I,” said Mona, going on. 

“The craythur ! ” mumbled Bridget to herself when 
they were gone, “ it’s not lookin’ like it she is anyway, 
with a face as white as a haddick.” 

Mona and the little one walked briskly along the path, 
which from Kisseck’s cottage was nearly level, and cut 
across the Head towards the south. There was a second 
path a few yards below them, and between these two, at 
a distance of some five or six hundred yards from the 
house, was the open shaft of an old disused lead-mine 
which has since been filled up. 

“ What a dreadful pit,” said Ruby, clinging to 
Mona’s skirts in the wind. They continued their walk 
until they came to a steep path that led down to a little 
bay. Then they paused, and looked back, around, and 
beneath. Overhead were the drifting black clouds, 
heavy, wide, and low. Behind was the Horse Hill, 
purple to the summit with gorse. To the north was the 
Castle Island, with its Fennella’s Tower against the sky, 
and the black rocks, fringed at the water’s edge with 
white spray. Beneath was the narrow covelet cleft out 
of the hill-side, and apparently accessible only from the 
sea. In front was the ocean, whose moan came up to 
them mingled with the shrill cry of 'the long-necked 
birds that labored midway in the burdened air. 

“What is the name of that pretty bay?” asked the 
child. 


76 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


‘‘ Poolvash/' answered Mona. 

And what does it mean? asked the little one. 

The Bay of Death/* said Mona; that’s what 
they used to call it long ago, but they call it the Lock- 
jaw now.” 

‘‘And what does that mean?” asked Ruby again, 
with a child’s tireless curiosity. 

‘ ‘ It means, I suppose, that the tide comes up into it, 
and then no one can get either in or out.” 

“ Oh what a pity ! Look at the lovely shells in the 
shingle,” said Ruby. 

Just then a step was heard on the path below, and in 
a moment Bill Kisseck came up beside them. He looked 
suspiciously at Mona and passed without a word. 

“That gel of Kinvig’s is sniffin’ round,” he said to 
his wife when he reached home. “She wouldn’t be 
partikler what she’d do if she got a peep and a skute 
into anything.” 

“ Didn’t you say no one could get up or down the 
Lockjaw when the tide is up?” asked Ruby as she 
tripped home at Mona’s side. 

“Yes,” said Mona, “ except from the sea.” 

“And isn’t the tide up now?” said Ruby. Mona 
did not answer. 

That night the storm that Danny had predicted from 
the aspect of the “cat’s tail” and the “skate” broke 
over Peel with terrific violence. When morning dawned 
it was found that barns had been unroofed and that lug- 
gers in the harbor had been torn from their moorings. 
The worst damage done was to the old wooden pier and 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


77 


the little wooden light-house. These had been torn en- 
tirely away, and nothing remained but the huge stone 
foundations which were visible now at the bottom of the 
ebb tide. The morning was clear and fine, the wind 
had dropped, and only the swelling billows in the bay 
and the timbers floating on every side remained to tell 
of last night's tempest. 

Little Ruby was early stirring, and before Mona and 
her mother were awake she ran down the hill towards 
Peel. An hour passed and the little one had not returned. 
Two hours went by, and Mona could see no sign of the 
child from the corner of the road. Then she became 
anxious, and went in search of her. 

‘‘Gerr out of this and take the boat round to the 
Lockjaw, d’ye hear? ” shouted Bill Kisseck, and see 
if any harm’s been done down there. Take a rope or 
two and that tarpaulin and cover up anything that’s 
wet.” 

Danny lifted the tarpaulin, and went quietly out of 
the house. 

‘‘I’ll never make nothin’ of that lad,” said Kisseck; 
“ he hasn’t a word to chuck at a dog.” 

Danny walked down to the harbor, threw the tarpaulin 
and two ropes into the boat, got into it himself, took the 
oar, and began to scull towards the sea. As he passed 
the ruined end of the pier a voice hailed him. He 
looked up. It was Christian Mylrea. 

“ If you are going round the Head I’d like to go with 
you,” said Christian. “I want to see what mischief 
the sea has done to the west wall of the castle. Five 


78 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


years ago a storm like this swept away ten yards of it at 
least.” 

Danny touched his cap and pulled up to the pier. 
Christian dropped, hand under hand, down a fixed 
wooden ladder, and into the boat. Then they sculled 
away. When they reached the west of the island, and 
had with difficulty brought-to against the rocks, Chris- 
tian landed, and found the old boundary wall overlook- 
ing the traditional Giant’s Grave torn down to the depth 
of several feet. His interest was so strongly aroused 
that he would have stayed longer than Danny’s business 
allowed. ‘‘Leave me here and call as you return,” he 
said, and then, with characteristic irresolution, he added, 
“ No, take me with you.” 

The morning was fine but cold, and to keep up a 
comfortable warmth Christian took an oar, and they 
rowed. 

“This pestilential hole, I hate it,” said Christian, as 
they swept into the Lockjaw. “ How high the tide is 
here,” he added, in another tone. 

They ran the boat up the shingle and jumped ashore. 
As they did so their ears became sensible of a feeble 
moan. Turning about they saw something lying on the 
stones. It was a child. Christian ran to it and picked 
it up. It was little Ruby. She was cold and apparently 
insensible. Christian’s face was livid, and his eyes 
seemed to start from his head. 

“Merciful God,” he cried, “what can have hap- 
pened? ” 

Then a torrent of emotion came over him, and, bend- 
ing on one knee, with the child in his arms, the tears 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


79 


coursed down his cheeks. He hugged the little one to 
his breast to warm it ; he chafed its little hands and 
kissed its pale lips, and cried, “ Ruby, Ruby, my dar- 
ling, my darling ! ” 

Danny stood by with amazement written on his face. 
Rising to his feet, Christian bore his burden to the boat, 
and called on Danny to push off and away. The lad did so 
without a word. He felt as if something was choking 
him, and he could not speak. Christian stripped off 
his coat and wrapped it about the child. Presently the 
little one’s eyes opened, and she whispered, ‘‘How 
cold ! ” and cried piteously. When the tears had ceased 
to flow, but still stood in big drops on the little face, 
Ruby looked up at Christian and then towards Danny, 
where he sculled at the stern. 

“ She wants to go to you,” said Christian, after a 
pause, and with a great gulp in his throat. Danny 
dropped the oar and lifted the child very tenderly in his 
big horny hands. “ Ruby ven. Ruby ven,” he whis- 
pered hoarsely, and the little one put her arms about his 
neck and drew down his head to kiss him. 

Christian turned his own head aside in agony. 
“ Mercy, mercy, have mercy ! ” he cried, with his eyes 
towards the sky. “ What have I lost ! What love have 
I lost ! ” 

He took the oars, and with head bent he pulled in 
silence towards the town. When they got there he took 
the little one again in his arms and carried her to the 
cottage on the “ brew.” Mona had newly returned from 
a fruitless search. She and her mother stood together 
with anxious faces as Christian, bearing the child. 


80 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


entered the cottage and stopped in the middle of the 
floor. Danny Fayle was behind him. There was a mo- 
ment's silence. At length Christian said, huskily, We 
found her in the Poolvash, cut off by the tide." 

No one spoke. Mona took Ruby out of his arms and 
sat with her before the fire. Christian stepped to the 
back of the chair and looked down into the child's eyes, 
now wet with fresh tears. Mrs. Cregeen gazed into his 
face. Not a word was said to him. He took up his 
coat, turned aside, paused for an instant at the door, and 
then walked away. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE shockin' powerful SKAME. 

** I've two mammas, haven’t I ? " cried Ruby, be- 
tween her sobs, as Mona warmed her cold limbs and 
kissed her. 

Danny had sat on the settle and looked on with won- 
dering eyes. He glanced from Mona's face to Ruby's, 
and from Ruby’s back to Mona’s. Some vague and 
startling idea was struggling its way into his sluggish 
mind. 

The child was warm and well in a little while, and 
turning to Danny, Mona said, Is it all settled that you 
told me of ? " 

Yes," answered the lad. 

** Is it to be to-day ? " 

Ay ; they're to go out at high-water with the line 
ft)r cod, and not come back till it's time to do it." 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


81 


“ Has any change been made in their arrangements?” 
No, ^cept that the pier bein’ swept away, they’re to 
run down the lamp that the harbor-master has stuck up 
on a pole.” 

Is it certain that Christian will not be with them?’^ 
Ay, full certain. They came nigh to blows over it 
last night.” 

“ And you will not go, Danny ? ” 

No, no ; when I take back the boat I’ll get out of 
the road.” 

'‘The harbor-master is to be decoyed away to the 
carol-singing and the hunting of the wren? ” 

" Ay, Davy Cain and Tommy Tear are at that job.” 

" And when is it high-water to-night ? ” 

" About eleven, but the Frenchman is meaning to run 
in at ten. I heard Bill say that, houldin’ in his breath.” 

"You’re quite sure about Christian?” asked Mona 
again. 

" Aw yes, certain sure.” 

"Then will you come back here to-night at six 
o’clock, Danny? ” 

"Yes,” said the lad, and he went out and down to- 
wards the shore. 

Mona hastened with all speed to the house of Ker- 
ruish Kinvig. There in breathless haste, but in the 
most logical sequence, she disclosed the whole infamous 
scheme which was afoot to wreck a merchantman that 
was expected to run into port on a smuggling adventure 
at ten o’clock that night. This was the plot as Mona 
presented it to Mr. Kinvig. The harbor-master’s 
musical weakness was to be played upon, and he was 
6 


82 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


to be got out of the way, two of Kisseck’s gang re- 
maining ashore for that purpose. At midday (that was 
to say in two hours) Kisseck and six men were to set 
out in the Ben-my-Chree on pretence of line-fishing. 
At nine that night they were to return. Kisseck him- 
self and three others were to put ashore in the dingy 
on the west coast of the Castle Isle, and there lie in 
wait. The other two were to take the lugger round to 
harbor, and in doing so were to run down the tem- 
porary light put up on the ruined end of the pier. 
False lights were then to be put on the south-west of the 
castle, and when the merchantman came up to dis- 
charge her contraband goods, she was to run on the 
rocks and be wrecked. 

Such was the scheme as Mona expounded it. Ker- 
ruish Kinvig blustered and swore ; wanted to know 
what the authorities were good for if private people 
had to be bedevil themselves with these dastardly affairs. 
It was easy to see, however, that, despite his protesta- 
tions, Mr. Kerruish, with this beautiful nut to crack 
and a terrific row to kick up, was in his joyful element. 
Away he scoured to the house of Mylrea Balladhoo, 
dragging Mona along with him. There the story was 
repeated, and various sapient suggestions were thrown 
out by Kinvig. Finally, and mainly at Mona’s own 
instigation, a plan was concocted by which not only the 
wrecking would be prevented, but the would-be wreck- 
ers were to be captured. This was the scheme. The 
harbor-master was to be allowed to fall a prey to the 
device of the plotters. (‘*I*d have him in Castle 
Rushen, the stone-deaf scoundrel,’’ shouted Kinvig.) 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


83 


Mr. Kinvig himself was to be the person to go to Castle 
Rushen. He was to set off at once and bring back 
under the darkness a posse of police or soldiers in private 
clothes. Eight of these were to be secreted in the 
ruined castle. Mona herself was to go on to the Con- 
trary Head, and the instant the light on the pier had 
been run down she was to light a lamp as a signal to 
the police in ambush, and as a warning to the merchant- 
man out at sea. Then the eight police were to pounce 
down on the wreckers lying in wait under the castle’s 
western walls. 

So it was agreed, and on a horse of Mylrea Balla- 
dhoo’s Kerruish Kinvig started immediately for Castle- 
town, taking the precaution not to pass through the town. 

Mona hastened home, and there to her surprise found 
Danny. ‘‘The young masther is to go,” he cried. 
What had happened was this. On taking the boat back 
to its moorings, the lad had been making his way to- 
wards Orry’s Head, as the remotest and most secluded 
quarter, when he passed Christian and a strange gentle- 
man in the streets, and overheard fragments of their 
conversation. The stranger was protesting that he must 
see Christian’s father. At length, and as if driven to 
despair, the young master said, 

“ Give me until to-morrow morning.” 

“Very good,” the stranger answered, “ but not an 
hour longer.” They parted, immediately Bill Kisseck 
with Davy Cain and Tommy Tear came round a street 
corner and encountered Christian. 

“I’ll join you,” Christian said with an oath. 

When do you sail ? ” 


84 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


‘‘In half an hour,*^ Kisseck answered, professing 
himself mightily pleased to have Christian’s company. 
Then Christian turned away, and Kisseck grunted to 
the men. 

‘ ‘ It was necessary to get that chap into it, you know. 
His father is the magistrate, and if anything should go 
wrong he’ll have to hush it up.” The others laughed. 

Danny saw that there was not a moment to lose. In 
half an hour the young master would be aboard the Ben- 
my-Chree on pretence of going out with the lines. 
Danny started away, but Kisseck having seen him, 
hailed him, and threw down a pair of sea-boots for him 
to pick up and take down to the boat. 

“ And stay there till we come,” Kisseck said in going 
off. The errand took several of Danny’s precious min- 
utes, but, throwing the boots down the hatchways, he 
set off for the “brew,” taking care to run along the 
shore this time. 

Mona heard his story with horror. She had already 
set the police on the crew of the lugger. She could not 
undo what she had done. Kerruish Kinvig must be 
already far on his way to Castle Rushen. It was certain 
that every man who went out in the boat must be cap- 
tured on her return. The only thing left to do was to 
prevent Christian going out with her at all. “ He shall 
no go,” cried Mona, and she hurried away to the quay. 
“ He shall not go,” she murmured to herself once again ; 
but as she reached the harbor, white and breathless, she 
saw the Ben-7ny~Chree sailing out into the bay, and 
Christian standing on her deck. 


SHE^S ALL the WORLD TO ME. 


85 


CHAPTER XII. 

STRONG KNOTS OF LOVE. 

At six o’clock the night had closed in. It was as 
black as ink. Not a star had appeared, but a sharp 
south-west wind was blowing, and the night might 
lighten later on. In the cottage on the ‘‘brew” a 
bright turf-fire was burning, and it filled the kitchen 
with a ruddy glow. Little Ruby was playing on a sheep- 
skin before the hearth. Old Mrs. Cregeen sat knitting 
in an arm-chair at one side of the ingle. Her grave 
face, always touching to look at, seemed more than ever 
drawn down with lines of pain. Every few minutes she 
stopped to listen for footsteps that did not come, or to 
gaze vacantly into the fire. Mona was standing at a 
table cutting slices of bread-and-butter. At some mo- 
ments her lips quivered with agitation, but she held the 
knife with the steady grasp of a man’s hand. Pale and 
quiet, with courage and resolution on every feature, this 
was the woman for a great emergency. And her hour 
was at hand. Heaven grant that her fortitude may not 
desert her to-night. She needs it all. 

A white face, with eyes full of fear, looked in at the 
dark window. It was Danny Fayle. “ Come in,” said 
Mona ; but he would not come. He must speak with 
her outside. She went out to him. He was trembling 
with excitement. He told her that Kerruish Kinvig had 
returned, and brought with him the men from Castle 


86 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


Rushen. There were eight of them. They had been 
across to the old castle and had opened a vault in St. 
Patrick's chapel. There they had found rolls of thread 
lace, casks of wines and spirits, and boxes of tea. This 
was not important, but Danny had one fact to com- 
municate which made Mona's excitement almost equal 
to his own. In a single particular the arrangement 
suggested by herself and agreed upon with Mylrea the 
magistrate had been altered. Instead of the whole eight 
men going over to the castle, four only, with Kinvig as 
guide, were to be stationed there. The other four were 
to be placed on the hill-side above Bill Kisseck's house 
to watch it. 

This change was an unexpected and almost fatal blow 
to a scheme which Mona had all day been concocting 
for the relief of the men on the Ben-my-Chree from the 
meshes in which she herself had imprisoned them. 

Mona's anxiety was greatest now that her hope seemed 
least. Rescue the men — Christian being one of them — 
she must, God helping her. Like a sorceress, whose 
charm has worked only too fatally, Mona's whole soul 
was engaged to break her own deadly spell. She con- 
ceived a means of escape, but she could not without help 
bring her design to bear. Would this lad help her? 
Danny ? She had seen the agony of his despair wither 
up the last gleam of sunshine on his poor, helpless face. 

Did you say that Mr. Kinvig is to be with the men 
in the castle? " 

Yes," said Danny. 

‘‘Is Mr. Mylrea to be with the others above your 
uncle’s house ? " 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


87 


No. They wanted him, but he was too old, he was 
say in’, and went off to find Christian and send him to 
be a guide to the strangers.** 

‘‘That is very good,** said Mona, “and we can 
manage it yet. Danny, do you go off to the castle — the 
tide is down ; you can ford it can*t you ? ** 

“ If I*m quick. It*s on the turn.** 

“Go at once. The men are not there now, are 
they?** 

“ No, they came across half an hour ago.** 

“ Good. They*ll return to the castle just before nine. 
Go you at this moment. Ford it, and they* 11 see no 
boat. Hide yourself among the ruins — in the guard- 
room — in the long passage — in the cell under the cathe- 
dral — in the sally-port — among the rocks outside — any- 
where — and wait until the Castle Rushen men arrive. 
As soon as they are landed and out of sight, get you 
down to where they have moored their boat, jump into 
it and pull away. That will cut off five of the nine, and 
keep them prisoners on the Castle Rock until to-morrow 
morning*s ebb tide.*’ 

“ But where am I to go in the boat? ” asked Danny. 
Mona came closer. “ Isn’t it true,” she whispered, 
“ that Kisseck and the rest of them go frequently to the 
creek that they call the Lockjaw? ” 

“ How did you know it, Mona? ” 

“ Never mind, now, Danny. Do you pull down to 
the Lockjaw ; run ashore there ; climb the brow above, 
and wait.” 

** Wait? — why ? until when ? ” 

“ Danny, from the head of the Lockjaw you can see 


88 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


the light on the end of the pier. I've been there myself 
and know you can. Keep your eye fixed on that light.” 

‘^Yes, yes; well, well?” 

** The moment you see the light go down on the pier 
— no matter when — no matter what else has happened — 
do you that instant set fire to the gorse about you. Fire it 
here, there, everywhere, as if were the night of May-day.” 

“ Yes ; what then ? ” 

‘ Then creep down to the shore, and wait again.” 

“ What will happen, Mona ? ” 

“This — Kisseck and the men with him will see your 
light over the Lockjaw, and guess that it is a signal of 
danger. If they have half wit they’ll know that it must 
be meant for them. Then they’ll jump into their boat 
and pull down to you.” 

“ When they come, what am I to say ? ” 

“ Say that the police from Castle Rushen are after them ; 
that four are cut off in the castle, and four more are on 
the Horse Hill above Contrary. Tell them to get back, 
every man of them, to Kisseck’s house as fast as their 
legs will carry them.” 

Danny’s intelligence might be sluggish at ordinary 
moments, but to-night it was suddenly charged with a 
ready man’s swiftness and insight. “ But the Castle 
Rushen men on the Horse Hill will see the burning 
gorse,” he said. 

“ True — ah, yes, Danny, that’s tr — . I have it ! I 
have it ! ” exclaimed the girl. “ There are two paths 
from the Lockjaw to Kisseck’s house. I walked both of 
them with Ruby, yesterday. One goes above the open 
shaft of the old lead-mine, the other below it. Tell the 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


89 


men to take the low road — the low road ; be sure you 
say the low road — and if the police see your fire 141 send 
them along the high road, and so they will pass with a 
cliff between them. That’s it, thank God. You under- 
stand me, Danny ? Are you quite sure you understand 
everything — every little thing ? ” 

** Yes, I do,” said the lad, with the energy of a man. 
When they get to Kisseck’s cottage let them smoke, 
drink, gamble, swear — anything — to make believe they 
have never been out to-night. You know what I mean ? ” 
I do,” repeated the lad. 

He was a new being. His former self seemed in that 
hour to drop from him like a garment. 

Mona looked at him in the dim light shot through the 
window from the fire, and for an instant her heart sm.ote 
her. What was she doing with this lad ? What was he 
doing for her? Love was her pole-star. What was his? 
Only the blank self-abandonment of despair. For love 
of Christian she was risking all this. But the wild force 
that inspired the heart of this simple lad was love for her 
who loved another. Whose was the the nobler part, 
hers who hoped all, or his who hoped nothing ? In the 
darkness she felt her face flush deep. Oh, what a great 
little heart was here — here, in this outcast boy ; this ne- 
glected, down-trodden, despised and rejected, poor, piti- 
ful waif of humanity. 

‘‘Danny,” she murmured, with plaintive tenderness, 
“ it is wrong of me to ask you to do this for me — very, 
very wrong.” 

His eyes were dilated. The face, hitherto unutterably 
mournful to see, was alive with a strange fire. But he 


90 


SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


said nothing. He turned his head towards the lonely sea^ 
whose low moan came up through the dark night. 

She caught both his hands with a passionate grasp. 

Danny/* she murmured again, if there was another 
name for love that is not — ** 

She stopped, but her eyes were close to his. 

He turned. Don’t look like that,” he cried, in a 
yoice that went to the girl’s heart like an arrow. 

She dropped his hands. She trembled and glowed. 
**Oh, my own heart will break,” she said; to lo\^ 
and not be loved, to be loved and not to love — ” 

I think at whiles I’d like to die in a big sea like 
that.”] 

Mona started. What had recalled Danny’s strange 
words ? Had he spoken them afresh ? No. 

‘‘ Danny,” she murmured once more, in tones of en- 
dearment, and again she grasped his hands. Their eyes 
met. The longing, yearning look in hers answered to 
the wild glare in his. 

Don’t look at me like that,” he repeated, with the 
same low moan. 

Mona felt as if that were the last she was ever to see of 
the lad in this weary world. He loved her with all his 
great, broken, bleeding heart. Her lips quivered. Then 
the brave, fearless, stainless girl put her quivering lips to 
his. 

To Danny that touch was as fire. With a passionate 
cry he flung his arms about her. For an instant her head 
lay on his breast. Now go,” she whispered, and broke 
from his embrace. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO MR 


91 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. 

Danny tore himself away with heart and brain aflame. 
Were they to meet again ? Yes. For one terrible and 
perilous moment they were yet to stand face to face. As 
he ran down the road towards the town, Danny encount- 
ered a gang of men with lanterns, whooping, laughing,, 
singing carols, and beating the bushes. It was the night 
before Christmas-eve, and they were hunting the wren.’’ 
Tommy Tear and Davy Cain were among them. Danny 
heard their loud voices, and knew they had trapped the 
harbor-master. The first act in to-night’s tragedy had 
begun. 

Two hours and a half later Mona passed the same 
troop of men. They were now standing in the Market- 
place. Tommy Tear and Davy Cain had a long pole 
from shoulder to shoulder, and from this huge bracket a 
tiny bird — a wren — was suspended. It was one of their 
Christmas customs. Their companions came up at inter- 
vals and plucked a feather from wren’s breast. Tommy- 
Bill-beg was singing a carol. A boy held a lantern to 
a crumpled paper, from which the unlettered coxcomb 
pretended to sing. 

Mona hurried on. Her immediate destination was 
the net factory. There she found the company of nine 
or ten men. She was taken into the midst of them. 

This is the young woman,” shouted Kerruish Kinvig ; 


92 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


^‘and when some of you fellows,’^ he added, have 
been police for fifty years, and are grown gray in the 
service, you may do worse than come here and go to 
school to this girl of two-and-twenty / * 

There was some superior and depreciatory laughter, 
and then Mona was required to repeat what she knew. 
When she had done so she did not wait for official in- 
structions. She quietly and resolutely announced her 
intention of going on to the cliff-head above Contrary 
with a lantern in hand. When the light on the pier was 
run down by the fishing-boat, she would light her lantern 
and turn it towards the castle as a sign to the men in 
hiding there. The determination and decision of this 
girl brooked no question. The police agreed to her 
scheme. And had she not been the root and origin of 
all their movements, and the sole cause that they were 
there at all ? 

But Mona had yet another proposal, and to herself this 
last was the most vital of all. The four men who were 
to watch Bill Kisseck’s house must have a guide, or by 
their lumbering movements they would awaken suspicion, 
and the birds would be frightened and not snared. 
Christian had not been found. '' He’s off to Ramsey, 
no doubt,” suggested Kinvig. ‘^I’ll be guide to you 
myself,” said Mona. Til take you to the Head, place 
you there, and then go off to my own station.” And so 
it was agreed. It is not usually a man’s shrewdness that 
can match a woman’s wit at an emergency like this. 
And then the men in this case were police — a palliating 
circumstance ! 

Half an hour passed, and Mona was on the cliff-head. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


93 


She had so placed the four men that they could not see 
her own position or know whether she duly and promptly 
lit her lantern or not. The night was still very dark. 
Not a star was shining ; no moon appeared. Yet, stand- 
ing where she stood, with the black hill behind her, she 
could at least descry something of the sea in front. The 
water, lighter than the land, showed faintly below. 
Mona could trace the line of white breakers around the 
Castle Isle. If a boat’s sail came close to the coast, she 
could see that also. The darkness of the night might 
aid her. There was light enough for her movements, 
but too little for the movements of the four strangers be- 
hind her. 

Mona saw the boat leave the shore that carried Kinvig 
and his four assistants across the strait to the castle. In 
a moment she lost it in the black shadow. Then she 
heard the grating of its keel on the shingle, and the 
clank of the little chain that moored it. 

Now everything depended on Danny. Had the lad 
wit enough to comprehend all her meaning ? Even if 
so, was it in human nature to do so much as she expected 
him to do from no motive, but such as sprang from hope- 
less love? God brighten the lad’s dense intellect for 
this night at least ! Heaven ennoble our poor, selfish, 
uncertain human nature for one brief hour ! 

Mona strained her ear for the splash of an oar. Danny 
ought to be stirring now. But no ; Mona could hear 
nothing but the murmur of the waters on the pebbles 
and their distant boom in the bay. 

Look ! coming up to the west coast of the castle were 
the sails of a fishing-boat silhouetted against the leaden 


M SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 

sky. It was a lugger. Mona could see both mainmas 
and mizzen with mainsail and yawl. It was the Ben< 
my-Chree. Christian was there, and he was in deadly 
peril. She herself had endangered his liberty and life. 
The girl was almost beside herself with terror. 

But look again ! Though no sound of oars could 
reach her, she could now see the clear outline of a boat 
scudding through the lighter patch of water just inside 
the castle’s shadow. It was Danny ! God bless and 
keep him on earth and in heaven ! How the lad rowed ! 
Light as the dip of a feather, and swift as the eagle 
flies ! Bravely, Danny, bravely ! 

The clock in the tower of the old church in the 
Market-place was striking. How the bell echoed on 
this lonely height ! — six, seven, eight, nine ! Nine 
o’clock ? Then the merchantman ought to be near at 
hand. Mona strained her eyes into the darkness. She 
could see nothing. Perhaps the ship would not come. 
Perhaps Heaven itself had ordered that the man she 
loved should be guiltless of this crime. Merciful 
Heaven, let it be so, let it be so ! 

The fishing-boat had disappeared. Yes, her sails 
were gone. But out at sea, far out, half a league away 
— what black thing was there ? Oh, it must be a cloud ; 
that was all. No doubt a storm was brewing. What 
was the funny sailor’s saying that Ruby laughed at when 
Danny repeated it ? No, no ! it was looming larger and 
larger, and it was nearer than she had thought. It was 
— yes, it was a sail. There could be no doubt of it 
now. The merchantman was outside, and she was less 
than a half a mile away. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


95 


Bill Kisseck and the three men who were to go ashore 
on the west of the Castle Isle must now have landed. 
Christian was one of them. Within fifty yards five men 
lay in wait to capture them. See, the Ben-my-Chree 
was fetching away to leeward. She was doubling the 
island rock and coming into harbor. How awkwardly 
the man at the tiller was tacking. That was a ruse, lest 
he was watched. To Mona the suspense of the moment 
was terrible. The very silence was awful. She felt an 
impulse to scream. 

What about Danny ? Had he reached the Lockjaw ? 

He must have rowed like a man possessed, to be there 
already. The Ben-my- Chree would sweep into harbor 
at the next tack. Could Danny get up on to the pier in 
time to see the lamp on the pier go down ? 

Mona could see the black outline of the Lockjaw 
headland from where she was stationed. Her heart 
seemed to stand still. She turned her eyes first to the 
pier, then to the Lockjaw, and then to the cloud of black 
sail outside that grew larger every instant. 

Look again — the fishing-boat is coming in; she is 
almost covering the lamp on the pier ; she has swept it 
down ; it is gone, and all is blank, palpable darkness. 
Mona covers her eyes with her hands. 

Is Danny ready ? Quick, quick, Danny ; one minute 
lost and all is lost ! No light yet on the Lockjaw. 

Bravo ! Mona’s heart leaps to her mouth. There is 
a light on the Lockjaw Head ! Thank God and poor 
dear Danny for ever and ever ! 

And now, the lamp down, the gorse burning, the 
merchantman drawing nearer and nearer, what must 


96 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


Mona herself do ? She had promised to give the sign to 
the men in the castle the instant the light on the pier 
was run down. Then they would know that it was not 
too soon to pounce down on Kisseck and his men, with 
part of their plot — the least dangerous part, but still a 
punishable part — carried into effect. But Mona did not 
light her lantern. She never meant to do it so soon. 
She must first see some reason to believe that Christian 
and his companions had taken Danny’s warning. 

She waited one minute — two, three. No sign yet. 
Meantime the black cloud of sail in the bay was draw- 
ing closer. There were living men aboard of that ship, 
and they were running on to the rocks. This suspense 
was agony. Mona felt that she must do something. But 
what? 

If she were to light her lantern now, she might save 
the merchantman ; but then Christian would be pounced 
upon and taken. If she were not to light her lantern 
soon, the ship would be gored to pieces on the Castle 
Isle, and perhaps all hands would be lost. What was 
Mona to do ? The tension was terrible. 

She strode up and down the hill-side — up and down, 
up and down. 

Three minutes gone — a fourth minute going. Not a 
sound from the west coast of the castle. Perhaps Chris- 
tian, Kisseck, and the rest had not landed. She must 
not let the merchantman be wrecked. Her lantern must 
be lit for the crew’s sake. Yes ; they were men, living 
men — men with wives who loved them, and children who 
climbed to their knees. Mona thought of Christian and 
of Ruby. It was a fierce moment of conflicting passion. 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD. ^ TO ME. 97 

Four minutes at least had gone. Mona had decided 
to light her lantern, come what would or could. She 
was in the act of doing so, when she heard footsteps on 
the cliff behind her. The four strangers had seen the 
light on the pier go down. They thought it must be 
time for them to be moving. Either Kinvig and the 
other four in the castle had taken their men, or they had 
missed them. In either case their own time for action 
had gone. 

Mona, in a fever of excitement, affected certain 
knowledge that Kisseck’s men must be captured. She 
recommended the police to go down to the shore and 
wait quietly for their friends. But at that moment they 
caught sight of Danny’s fire on the Lockjaw Head. They 
suspected mischief, and declared their intention of going 
off to it. 

At the same moment Mona’s quicker eyes, now pre* 
ternaturally quick, caught sight of a boat clearing the 
west coast of the Castle Rock, and sailing fast towards 
the Lockjaw. It was Christian’s boat. Again Mona felt 
an impulse to scream. 

And now there came loud shouts from the castle. At 
the sign of Mona’s lantern, Kinvig and his followers had 
leaped out of their ambush, only to find their men gone. 
Then they had run off to the creek in which they had 
left their boat, meaning to give chase — only to find that 
the boat had disappeared. There had been treachery 
somewhere. They were imprisoned on the Castle Rock, 
and so they shouted, loud and long, to their comrades 
on the cliff. 

Mona thought she would have laughed yet louder and 
7 


08 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO HE. 


longer had she dared. But the police were still with 
her, and the desire to laugh was quickly swallowed up 
in fresh fear. She took the strangers to the high path 
that led to the Lockjaw. “Follow this/’ she said, 
“and take no other, as you value your limbs and necks.’' 
She told them to be very careful as they passed the open 
shaft of the old lead-mine. It would lie three yards on 
their right. Away they went. 

What had happened to the merchantman ? She had 
seen danger, and was already beating down the bay. 
She and her crew were safe. Putting down the lantern 
on the hill-side, Mona ran with all speed to Kisseck’s 
cottage. In the darkness she almost stumbled down the 
little precipice on to the back of the roof. Running 
round the path, she pushed her way into the house. 
Bridget Kisseck was there. In breathless haste Mona 
told the woman that the police were after Kisseck and 
his friends ; urged her to get pipes, tobacco, cards, ale, 
spirits, and the like on the table. The men would be 
here in three minutes. They must make pretence that 
they had never been out. 

Then Mona ran back to the angle of the two moun- 
tain paths, the high path and the low one. 

Bridget, who had not comprehended Mona’s instruc- 
tions, took fright at her intelligence, put on her shawl 
and bonnet, and, without waiting for her husband, hur- 
ried away to the town. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


99 ' 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BILL IS GONE TO BED/* 

What was happening to Danny at the Lockjaw 
Creek ? 

Throughout two hours and a half he had lain in the 
cold, motionless and silent, among the rocks outside the 
castle. When the time came he had leaped into the 
boat which the police brought with them, and pulled 
away. He had strained every muscle to reach the 
Poolvash, knowing full well that if he gained it one 
minute late it might be indeed the bay of death. Be- 
fore he had crossed that point at which the two streams 
meet midway in the strait he could see the Ben-my- 
Chree tacking into the harbor. Then, indeed, he 
sculled with all his strength. He ran ashore. He 
mounted to the cliff-head. With the matches in his 
hand he peered through the darkness to where the lamp 
still burned on the end of the pier. Yes, he was in 
time. But what was the red riot that was now rising 
in his heart ? 

It was then, and not till then, that the thought came 
to him, ‘‘What am I here for?” What for? Who 
for? Why? It was a moment of blank bewilderment. 
Then in an instant, as if by a flash of lightning, every- 
thing became plain. Mona, Christian, Ruby — these 
three, linked together for the first time in the lad’s mind, 
flashed the truth, the fact, the secret upon him. Danny 
had at length stumbled into the hidden grave. He saw 


100 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


it all now. What had lain concealed from other and 
wiser heads, vainer heads, heads lifted above his in lofty 
pride, was revealed to his simple intelligence and great 
yearning heart. 

Yes, Danny knew now why he was there. It was to 
save the life of the man who was beloved by the woman 
whom he loved. 

The world seemed in that moment to crumble beneath 
his feet. He dropped his eyes in deep self-abasement, 
but he raised them again in self-sacrifice and unselfish 
love. There was no doubt as to what he should do. 
No, not even now, with the life of Christian in the palm 
of his hand. Some power above himself controlled him. 

For her sake,*' he whispered. Oh, for her sake, for 
all,^’ he murmured, and at that moment the light on the 
pier went down. 

He struck his matches and lit the gorse. It was damp, 
and at first it would not burn. It dried at laist, and 
burst into flame. Then the lad crept down to the 
water’s edge and waited. 

The water lay black as the raven outside, but the light 
of the burning gorse overhead gilded the rolling wave- 
lets at his feet. 

In five minutes the dingy of the Ben-my- Chree shot 
into the creek, and four men leaped ashore. One was 
Kisseck, another Christian, and the other two were Paul 
Corteen and Luke Killip. All were violently agitated. 

‘‘ What for is all this, you young devil? ” cried Kis- 
seck. What does it all mean? — out with it, quick ! — 
what tricks have you been playing? Damn his fool's 
face, why doesn't he speak ? " 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


101 


And Kisseck struck the lad, and he fell. Danny got 
up strangely quiet, strangely calm, with great wide eyes, 
and a face that no man could look on without fear. 
Kisseck trembled before it, but — from dread alone and 
without waiting for a word of explanation — he raised his 
hand once more. 

Christian interposed. Danny told his story ; how the 
police were on the cliff-head as well as the island ; how 
they would certainly make for this spot; how Mona 
Cregeen would send them along the high path ; and how 
they — Kisseck, Christian, and the others — were to take 
the low path, get back with all haste to the cottage, and 
make pretence that they had never been out. 

Christian started away. He had climbed the precipi- 
tous cliff-head in a minute, the others following. When 
they reached the top, Danny was side by side with his 
uncle, staring with wild eyes into his face. Kisseck 
stopped. 

‘‘ , what for do you look at me?” he cried. 

Then again he lifted his hand and struck the lad and 
threw him. When Danny rose to his feet after this sec- 
ond blow he laughed aloud. It was a laugh to freeze 
the blood. Christian turned back. He took Kisseck by 

the shoulder. ‘‘By ,” he said, between gusts of 

breath, “touch him again and I’ll pitch you into the 
sea.” 

Kisseck was silent and cowed. There was no time to 
stand quarreling there. “ Come on,” cried Christian, 
and he set off to run. He speedily outran the rest, and 
they lost sight of him. 

The two paths that lead to the Lockjaw came together 


102 


SEE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


within a hundred yards at the end. In the darkness, in 
the confusion, in the turmoil of soul, Christian missed 
the lower path and followed the higher one. He did not 
realize his mistake. Running at his utmost speed, how- 
ever, he heard footsteps in front of him. They were 
coming towards him. They were the footsteps of the 
police. Christian was uncertain what to do. For him- 
self he cared little. But he thought of his father, of 
Mona, of little Ruby, and then life and fame were dear. 

The cliff was on the right of him, as he supposed, the 
sea on the left. He reckoned that he must be near to 
Kisseck’s cottage now. Perhaps he could reach it be- 
fore the men came up to it. They were drawing very 
close. Along the higher path Christian ran at his utmost 
speed. 

Ah ! here is the cottage, nearer than he had expected. 
He must have run faster than he supposed. In the un- 
certain light Christian sees what he takes to be the old 
quarry. There is no time to go round by the road and 
in at the front. He must leap down the back of the 
shallow quarry, light on the thatch, and lie there for a 
minute until the men have passed. 

He runs, he leaps, but — he has jumped down the open 
shaft of the old disused lead-mine. 

Meantime Kisseck and Danny Fayle, with Corteen 
and Killip, found the low path and followed it. They 
heard the strangers pass on the high path, but they were 
themselves running softly on the thin grass, and a cliff 
was between the police and them. When they got to 
the angle of the roads and turned down the footpath in 


103 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 

front of the house they passed Mona. As they entered. 

Who was that woman ? ” said Kisseck. 

“Mona/* answered Danny. 

“ Damn her, I’ll lay my soul that craythur is at the 
bottom of it all.” 

Danny’s dilated eyes flashed fire. But he was other- 
wise outwardly quiet and calm. 

“Where’s that other fellow — Christian?” said Kis- 
seck. “ He has led me into all this cursed mess.” 

“That’s a lie,” said Danny, with the color gone 
from his cheeks. 

Kisseck walked across to him with uplifted arm. 
Never flinching, the lad waited for the blow. Kisseck 
dropped his hand. Curling his lip in biting mockery, 
he said, “ What for is that she-devil sthrowling around 
here ? ” 

One bright spot of blood came into the lad’s face, and 
as he drew in his breath it went through his teeth. But 
he was silent still. 

“She has the imperince of sin,” said Kisseck. “If 
she comes here she’ll suffer for it.” 

Danny walked to the door and pushed the bolt. Kis- 
seck laughed bitterly. 

“ I knew it,” he said. “ I knew she was in it. But 
I’ll punish her. Out of the way, you idiot waistrel.” 

There was a hurried step on the road outside. 

Danny put his back to the door. His eyes melted, 
and he cried beseechingly — 

“ You’ll not do that. Uncle Bill? ” 

“Out of the road, you young pauper,” cried "Kis- 
seck ; and he took hold of Danny and thrust him aside* 


104 


SHE^S ALL THE WOELD TO ME, 


‘‘You shall not do it/' screamed the lad, running to 
the hearth and snatching up a poker. 

All Danny's unnatural quiet had forsaken him. 

There was a knock at the door, and an impatient fooS 
step to and fro. 

Kisseck walked into an inner room, and came back 
with a pistol in his hand. 

‘‘Men, don’t you see it plain? That woman is at the 
bottom of it all," he said, turning to Corteen and Killip, 
and pointing, as he spoke, to the door. She brought 
us here to trap us, and now she has come to see if we 
are at home. She has the men from Castle Rushen be- 
hind her ; but she shall pay for it with her life. Out of 
the way, I say. Out — of — the — way." 

Danny was standing again with his back to the door. 
He had the poker in his hand. Kisseck put the pistol 
on a table, and closed with Danny to push him aside. 
There was a terrible struggle. Amid curses from Kis- 
seck and shouts from Corteen and Killip, the poker was 
wrenched from Danny’s grasp and thrown on the floor. 
The lad himself was dragged away from the door, and 
the bolt was drawn. 

Then in an instant Danny rushed to the table and 
picked up the pistol. There was a flash, a deafening ex- 
plosion, a shriek, a heavy fall, and Kisseck rolled on the 
floor dead. 

Danny staggered back to the door, the hot pistol still 
in his hand. He was petrified. His great eyes seemed 
to leap out of his head. When the smoke cleared he saw 
what he had done. His lips moved, but no words came 
from him. The other men were speechless. There was 


SHE^S ALL THE 'WORLD TO ME, 105 

a moment of awful silence. Then, once more, there 
came a knock at the door against which Danny leaned. 

Another knock. No answer. Another — louder. Still 
no reply. 

‘‘Bridget,” cried a voice from without. It was 
Mona’s, voice. 

“ Bridget, let me in. What has happened ? ” 

No one stirred. 

“Bridget, they are coming. Tell the men to go off 
to sea.” 

None spoke or moved. The latch was lifted, but in 
vain. 

“Bridget — Christian — Christian ! ” — (knocking con- 
tinued). 

“ Kisseck — Kisseck — Bill Kisseck — Bill ! ” 

At last one of the men found his voice ; 

“ Bill is gone to bed,” he said, hoarsely. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A RESURRECTION INDEED. 

“ The night is long that never finds the day.” — Macbeth, 
The shaft of the old lead-mine down which Christian 
leaped was forty-five feet deep, yet he was not killed ; he 
was not even hurt. At the bottom were fifteen feet of 
water, and this had broken his dreadful fall. On com- 
ing to the surface, one stroke in the first instant of dazed 
consciousness had landed him on a narrow ledge of rock 
that raked downward with the seam. But what was his 
position when he realized it ? It seemed to be worse 
than death itself; it was a living death ; it was life in the 


.06 SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

arms of death ; it was burial in an open grave. He 
heard steps overhead, and in the agony of fear he 
shouted. But the steps went by like a swift breath of 
wind, and no one answered. Then he reflected that 
these must have been the footsteps of the police. Thank 
God they had not heard his voice. To be rescued by 
them must have been ruin more terrible than all. 
Doubtless they knew of his share in to-night* s attempted 
crime. Knowing this they must know by what fatality 
he was buried here. Christian now realized that death 
encircled him on every side. To remain in this pit was 
death ; to be lifted out of it was death no less surely. 
To escape was hopeless. He looked up at the sky. It 
was a small square patch of leaden gray against the im- 
penetrable blackness of hfs prison walls. 

Standing on the ledge of rock, and steadying himself 
with one hand, he lifted the other stealthily upward to 
feel the sides of the shaft. They were of rock and were 
precipitous, but had rugged projecting pieces on which 
it was possible to lay hold. As he grasped one of these, 
a sickening pang of hope shot through him and wounded 
him worse than despair. But it was swift ; it was gone 
in an instant. The piece of rock gave way in his hand, 
and tumbled into the water below him with a hollow 
splash ! The sides of the shaft were of a crumbling stone. 

Now, indeed, he knew how hopeless was his plight. 
He dare not cry for help. He must stand still as death 
in this deep tomb. To attract attention would of itself 
be death. To remain down the shaft would also be cer- 
tain death. To climb to the surface was imposible. 
Christian’s heart sank. His position was terrible. 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO 3IE. 


107 


This conflict of soul did not last long. The heart soort 
clung to the nearest hope. Cry for help he must ; be 
dragged out of this grave he should, let the issue be 
what it could or would. To lie here and die was not 
human. To live in the living present was the first duty, 
the first necessity, be the price of life no less than future 
death. 

Christian reflected that the police, when he heard 
their footsteps, had been running to Lockjaw Creek. It 
would take them five minutes to reach it. When they 
got there and saw the boats on the shingle they would 
know that their men had escaped them. Then they 
would hasten back. In ten minutes they would pass the 
mouth of the shaft again. Five of these ten minutes' 
must have gone already. If he were to be rescued he 
must know nearabouts when they ought to return, so 
that he might shout when they were within hail. He 
remembered that their footsteps had gone from him like 
the wind. The long shaft and sixty feet of dull dead 
rock and earth had carried them off in an instant. 

Christian began to reckon the moments. His thoughts 
came too fast. He knew they must deceive him as to 
time. Minutes in this perilous position might count 
with him for hours. He took out his watch, meaning 
to listen for the beat of its seconds. The watch had 
stopped. No doubt it was full of water. Christian’s 
heart beat loud enough. Then he began to count — one, 
two, three. But his mind was in a whirl. He lost his 
reckoning. He found that he had stopped counting 
and forgotten the number. Whether five minutes or 
fifty had passed he could not be sure. 


108 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


Hark ! He heard something overhead. Were they 
footsteps, those thuds that fell on the ear like the first 
rumble of a distant thunder-cloud? Yes, some one was 
near him. Now was his time to call, but his tongue was 
cleaving to his mouth. Then he heard words spoken at 
the mouth of the shaft. They rumbled down to him 
like words shouted through a hollow black pillar. 

Here, men,’^ said one, ‘‘let’s tumble him into the 
lead-mine. No harm will it do him now, poor cray- 
thur.” 

But another voice, laden with the note of fearful 
agony, cried, “No, no, no ! ” 

“ We must do something. No time to lose now. The 
fac’s is agen us. Let’s make a slant for it, anyway. 
Lift again — up ! ” 

Christian shuddered at the sound of human voices. 
Buried, as he was, sixty feet beneath the earth, they 
came to him like the voice that the wind might make 
on a tempestuous night if, as it reached your ear, it 
whispered words and fled away. 

The men were gone. Christian’s blood was chilled. 
What had happened ? Was some one dead ? Who was 
it ? Christian shuddered at the thought of what might 
have occurred if the dead body had been tossed over 
him into the pit. Had the police overstepped their 
duty ? Were they the police ? Did he not remember 
one of the voices — or both ? Christian’s entempest soul 
was overwhelmed with agony. He could not be sure 
that in very truth he was conscious of anything that oc- 
curred. 

Time passed — he knew not how long or short — and 


SRE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


10 ^ 


again he heard voices overhead. They were not the 
voices that he had heard before. 

‘‘ They have escaped us/* said one. “Their boats 
are gone from the creek now.*’ 

These, then, were the police ; and, with a fresh flood 
of agony, Christian realized that the other men had 
been his friends. What fatality had prevented him 
from crying aloud to the only persons on earth who 
could, in very truth, have rescued and saved him ? 

The voices above were dying away. “ Stop ! ** cried 
Christian. Despair made him brave; fear made him 
fearless. But none answered. Then he was conscious 
that a footstep approached the top of the shaft. Had 
he been heard ? Now he prayed to God that he had 
not. 

“ What a gulf,** said one. “Lucky we didn*t tum- 
ble down. The young woman warned us, you remem- 
ber.** 

There was a short laugh at the mouth of Christian’s 
open grave. He did not call again. The voices 
ceased, the footsteps died off. 

He was alone once more ; but death was with him. 
The police had gone. Kisseck and his men had gone. 
They were no doubt out at sea by this time if, as the 
police said, the boats had been taken from the creek. 
Christian remembered now that the voices he had heard 
first were those of Corteen and Danny Fayle. This re- 
covered consciousness enabled him to recall the fearful 
memory of what had been said. Cold as he was, the 
sweat stood in big drops on Christian’s forehead. One 
of their own men was dead ; one of the companions in. 


110 


SHE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


this night’s black adventure. A bad man perhaps, or 
perhaps merely a weak victim, but his own associate, 
whatever else he had been. 

Now if he were to escape from his death in life it 
must be by his own unaided energies alone. It was 
best so ; best that he should climb to the top without 
help, or be lost without detection. After all, it was a 
superior Power that had governed this dread eventuality 
and silenced his impotent tongue. 

An hour passed. The wind began to rise. At first 
Christian felt nothing of it as he stood in his deep tomb. 
He could hear its thin hiss over the mouth of the shaft, 
and that was all. But presently the hiss deepened to a 
sough. Christian had often heard of the wind’s sob. It 
was. a reality, and no metaphor, as he listened to the 
wind now. The wind began to descend. With a great 
swoop it came down the shaft, licked the walls, gathered 
voice from the echoing water at the bottom, struggled 
for escape, roared like a caged beast, and was once more 
sucked up to the surface with a noise like the breaking of 
a huge wave over a reef. The tumult of the wind in the 
shaft was hard to bear, but when it was gone it was the 
silence that seemed to be deafening. 

Sometimes the gusts were laden with the smoke of 
burning gorse. It came from the fire that Danny had 
kindled on the head of the Poolvash. Would the fire 
reach the pit, encircle it, descend in it ? 

Then the rain began to fall. Christian knew this by 
the quick monotonous patter overhead. But no rain 
touched him. It was being driven aslant by the wind, 
and fell only against the uppermost part of the walls of 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


Ill 


the shaft. Sometimes a soft thin shower fell over him. 
It was like the spray from a cataract except that the 
volume of water from which it came was above and not 
beneath him. 

Christian had begun to contemplate measures for 
escape. That unexpected softness of the rock which 
had at first appalled him began now to give him some 
painful glimmerings of hope. If the sides of the shaft 
had been uniformly of the gray slate rock of the dis- 
trict, the ledge he had laid hold of would not have 
crumbled in his hand. Being soft, there must be a 
vein of sandstone running across the shaft. Christian’s 
bewildered memory recalled what he must have heard 
many times of the rift of redstone which lay under the 
headland south of Peel. If this vein were but deep 
enough, his safety was assured. He could cut niches 
into it with a knife, and so, perhaps, after infinite pain 
and labor, reach the surface. Steadying himself with 
one hand, Christian felt in his pockets for his knife. It 
was not there ! Now death indeed was certain. De- 
spair began to take hold of him. 

He was icy cold and feverishly hot at intervals. His 
clothes were wet; the water still dripped from them, 
and fell at intervals into the hidden tarn beneath in hol- 
low drops. 

But not so soon is hope conquered, when it is hope 
of life. Not to hope now would have been not to fear. 
Christian remembered that he had a pair of small scis- 
sors attached to a button-hook. When searching for 
ais knife he had felt it in his pocket, and spurned it for 
resembling the knife to the touch of his nervous fingers. 


112 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 


Now it was his sole instrument. He found it again, 
opened it, and with this paltry help he set himself to his 
work of escape from this dark, deep tunnel that stood 
upright. 

The night was wearing on ; hour after hour passed. 
The wind dropped ; the rain ceased to patter overhead. 
Christian toiled on step over step ; resting sometimes on 
the largest and firmest of the projecting ledges, he 
looked up at the sky. Its leaden gray had changed to a 
dark blue studded with stars. The moon arose and 
shone a little way down his prison, lighting all the rest. 
He knew it must be early morning. One star, a large, 
full globe of light, twinkled directly above him. His 
eye was fascinated by that star. He sat long and 
watched it. He turned again and again in his toilsome 
journey to look at it. Was it a symbol of hope ? Pshaw t 
Christian twisted back to his work. When he looked 
for the star again it was gone. It had moved beyond 
his ken ; it had passed out of range of his narrow spot 
of heaven. Somehow it had been a mute companion. 
Christian’s heart sank yet lower in his cheerless soli- 
tude. 

Still he toiled on. His strength was far spent. The 
moon died off, and the stars went out one after one. 
Then a deep, impenetrable cloud of darkness overspread 
the little sky above. Christian knew it must be the 
darkness that precedes the dawn. He had reached a 
ledge of rock wider than any that were beneath it. 
Clearly enough a wooden rafter had lain along it. 

Christian rested and looked up. At that moment he 
heard the light patter of four little feet overhead, and a 


SRE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


113 . 


poor stray sheep, a lamp of last spring’s flock, bleated 
down the shaft. The melancholy call of the lost crea- 
ture in that dismal place touched Christian deeply. 
What was it that made the tears start to his eyes and his 
whole soul shake with a new agony ? The outcast lamb 
wandering over this trackless waste in the night had 
touched an old scar in Christian’s heart, and made the 
wound bleed afresh. Was it strange that in that hour 
his thoughts turned involuntarily to little Ruby Cregeen ? 
The darling child, caressed by the salt breath of the sea, 
and with the sunlight dancing in her eyes and glistening 
on her ruby lips, had she then anything in common with 
the little wanderer that sent up her pitiful cry into the 
night ? Too much, too much, for the man who heard 
it, and he was buried in a living grave, with the tomb- 
stones of dead joys rising everywhere around, with the 
fire that had for years been kept close burning now most 
of all. Oh, these dead joys, they want the deepest 
grave. 

Christian turned again to his weary task. To live 
was a duty, and live he must. His fingers were chilled 
to the bone. His clothes still clung like damp cerements 
to his body. The meagre blades of the scissors were 
worn short. They could not last long. Christian rose 
to his feet on the ledge of rock, and plunged the scissors 
into the blank wall above him. Ah 1 what fresh disaster 
was this ? His hand went deep into soft earth ; the vein 
of rock had finished, and all that was above it must be 
loose, uncertain mould ! 

He gasped at the discovery. A minute since life had 
looked very dear. Must he abandon his hope of it after 
8 


114 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


all ? He paused and reflected. As nearly as he could 
remember, he had made twenty niches in the rock. 
Hence he must be fully thirty-five feet from the water, 
and ten from the surface. Only ten feet, and then — 
freedom ! Yet these ten seemed to represent an im- 
possibility. To ascend by holes dug deep in the soft 
earth was a perilous enterprise. A great clod of soil 
might at any moment give way above or beneath him, 
and then he would be plunged once more into the pit. 
If he fell from the side of the shaft, he would be more 
likely than at first to strike one of the projecting ledges, 
and be killed before he reached the water. There was 
nothing left but to wait for the dawn. Perhaps the day- 
light would reveal some less hazardous method of escape. 

Slowly the dull, dead, impenetrable blackness above 
him was lifted off. It was as though a spirit breathed on 
the night and it fled away. When the woolly hue of 
morning dappled his larger sky, Christian could hear the 
slow beat of the waves on the shore. The coast rose up 
before his vision then, silent, solemn, alone with the 
dawn. The light crept into his prison-house. He 
looked down at the deep black tarn. 

And now hope rose in his heart again. Overhead he 
saw timbers running around and across the shaft. These 
had been used to bank up the earth and to make two 
grooves in which the ascending and descending cages 
had once worked. Christian lifted up his soul in thank- 
fulness. The world was once more full of grace, even 
for him. He could climb from stay to stay, and so 
reach the surface. 

Catching one of the stays in his uplifted hands, he 


SffE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. li;: 

swung his knees on to another. One stage was accom- 
plished, but how stiff were his joints and how sinewless 
his fingers ! Another and another stage was reached, 
and then four feet and no more were between him and 
the gorse that waved in the light of the risen sun across 
the mouth of his night-long tomb. 

But the rain of years had eaten into these timbers. 
In some places they crumbled and were rotten. God ! 
how the one on which he rested creaked under him at 
that instant. Another minute, and then the toilsome 
journey would be over. Another minute, and his dead 
self would be left behind him, buried forever in this 
grave ! Then there would be a resurrection in very 
truth ! Yes, truly, God helping him. 

Christian had swimming eyes and a big heart as he 
raised himself on to the topmost stay that crossed the 
shaft, and clutched the long tussacs of the clinging 
gorse. Then, at the last spring, he heard a creak — 
another — louder — the timbers were breaking beneath 
his feet. At the same moment he heard a half-stifled 
cry — saw a face — it was Monads face — there was a 
breathless instant of bewildered consciousness. 

In another moment Christian was standing on the 
hill-side, close locked in Mona’s arms. 


CHAPTER XVL 
god’s writing on the sea. 

When the knocking ceased at Kisseck’s, and Mona’s 
footsteps were heard to turn away, Corteen and Killip 


116 


SHE'S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


knelt on the floor and felt the body of the master, and 
knew that he was dead. 

‘‘Let’s get off* anyway,” said one; “let’s away to 
sea, as the gel said. The fac’s is agen us all.” 

“ Maybe the man was right,” said the other. “ It’s 
like enough she’s got the Castle Rushen fellows behind 
her, and they’ll be on us quick. Come, bear a hand.” 

Their voices sounded hollow. They lifted Kisseck on 
to their shoulders. A thin red stream was flowing from 
his breast. Corteen picked up a cap from the floor, and 
stanched the blood. It was Danny’s cap, and as they 
passed out it fell again in the porch. 

Danny himself stepped away from the door to let 
them pass. He had watched their movements with big 
wide eyes. They went by him without a word. When 
they were gone, he followed them mechanically, scarcely 
knowing what he did. With bare head, and the pistol 
still hanging in his rigid hand, he stepped out into the 
night. 

It was very dark now. They could see nothing save 
the glow of the fire burning furiously over the Poolvash. 
And only the sharp crackle of the kindling gorse and 
the deep moan of the distant sea could they hear. They 
took the low path back to the Lockjaw, where they had 
left the boats. The body was heavy, their steps were 
uncertain in the darkness, and their capture seemed im- 
minent. As they passed the mouth of the old pit, 
Corteen proposed to throw the body into it. Killip as- 
sented ; but Danny, who had not uttered word or sound 
until now, cried, “No, no, no.” Then they hurried 
along. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


117 


When they reached the Lockjaw they descended to 
the bay, got into one of the boats, and pushed off. The 
other boat — the police-boat that Danny had brought 
from the castle — they pulled into mid-stream, and there 
sent it adrift. It ran ashore at the next flood tide, two 
miles farther up the shore. When they got clear out- 
side of the two streams that flow round the Head, they 
were amazed to find the Ben-my- Chree bearing down 
on them in the uncertain light. What had happened 
was this : 

On running down the lamp that was put up on the 
ruined end of the pier, the two men who had charge of 
the fishing-boat had lain-to and stayed aboard for some 
minutes. Davy Cain and Tommy Tear, having effected 
their purpose ashore, had stolen away from their simple 
companions, and were standing on the quay. The two 
couples of men were exchanging words in eager whispers 
when they heard shouts from the castle. ‘‘What’s 
that? Kisseck’s voice?” “No.” “ Something has 

gone wrong. Let us set sail and away.” So they stood 
out again to sea, passing close by the Castle Rock. 
They now realized that the voice they had remembered 
was the voice of Kinvig. That was enough to tell them 
that mischief had been brewing. They rounded the 
island and saw the fire over the head of the Lockjaw. 
They filled away and kept the boat off to her course. 
Soon they saw the dingy athwart their hawse, and 
pulled to. Corteen and Killip lifted the body of 
Kisseck into the fishing-boat, and Danny Fayle, all but 
as silent and rigid, was pulled up after it. As the lad 
was dragged over the gunwale the pistol dropped from 


118 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


his hand and fell with a splash into the sea. A word 
of explanation ensued, and once more they were standing 
out to sea, with their dread freight of horror and crime. 

The wind was fresh outside. It was on their star- 
board quarter as they now made for the north. They 
saw the fire burning to leeward. It sent a long, red, 
sinuous track of light across the black water that flowed 
between them and the land. Danny stood forward, 
never speaking, never spoken to, gazing fixedly at that 
sinuous track. To his affirighted senses it was as the 
serpent of guilt that kept trailing behind him. 

When they were well away, and the men had time to 
comprehend in its awful fulness what had occurred, they 
stood together aft and whispered. They had placed the 
body of the master by the hatchways, and again and 
again they turned their heads towards it in the darkness. 
It was as though the body might even yet stand up in 
their midst, and any man at any moment might find it 
face to face with him, eye to eye. The certainty that it 
was dead had not taken hold of all of them. It still 
bled, and one of the crew, Quilleash, an old man reputed 
to possess a charm to stop blood, knelt down beside 
Kisseck, and whispered in his ear. 

** A few good words can do no harm anyway,*^ said 
Tear, and even Davy Cain was too much aghast to jeer 
at the superstition. 

‘‘Sanguis mane in te, Sicut Christus se,** whispered 
the old man in his native tongue into the deaf ear, and 
then followed a wild command to the blood to cease 
flowing in the name of the three godly men who came 
to Rome — Christ, Peter, and Paul. 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, !!& 

The blood stopped indeed. But Chamarroo as 
clagh,” said the old man, looking up : as dead as a stone. 

Danny stood and looked on in silence. His spirit 
seemed to be gone, as though it could awake to life again 
only in another world. 

When death was certain the men began to mourn over 
Kisseck, and recount their memories concerning him. 

‘‘Well, Bill’s cruise is up, poor fellow; and a rael 
good skipper anyway.” 

“Poor Bill! What’s that it’s sayin’ — ‘He who 
makes a ditch for another may fall into it himself.’ ” 

None spoke to Danny. A kind of awe fell on them 
in their dealings with the lad. They let him alone. It 
was as if he had been the instrument in greater hands. 

“ He hadn’t a lazy bone in him, hadn’t Bill. Aw^ 
well, God will be aisy on the poor chap,” 

“You have to summer and winter a man before you 
know him. And leave it to me to know Kisseck. I’ve 
shared work, shared meat with him this many a year.” 

“And a fine big chap, and as straight as the back- 
bone of a herring. Aw, well, well, well.” 

“ Still, for sure, Bill made a man toe the mark. I’m 
thinking, poor chap, he’s got summat to answer for any- 
way. Well, well, every man must go to the mill with 
his own sack.” 

Then they compared memories of how the dead man 
had foreseen his end. One remembered that Kisseck 
had said he knew he should not die in his bed. Another 
recalled the fact that on Good Friday morning Kisseck 
struck the griddle that hung in the ingle and tumbled 
it into the fire. This tangible warning of approaching 


120 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


-death the witness had seen with his own eyes. A third 
inan remembered that Kisseck had met a cat when going 
home on Oie houiney (Hallow-eve). And if these 
prognostications had counted for little, there was the re- 
maining and awful fact that on New-year’s-eve Bridget 
Kisseck had raked the fire on going to bed, and spread 
the aslies on the floor with the tongs, and next morning 
had found that print of a foot pointing towards the door 
which was the certain forewarning of death in the 
household within a year. 

They were doubling the Point of Ayre, with no clear 
purpose before them, and with some misgivings as to 
whether they had done wisely in setting out to sea at all, 
when the wind fell to a dead calm. Then through the 
silence and darkness they heard large drops of rain fall 
on the deck. Presently there came a torrent, which 
lasted nearly an hour. The men turned in ; only Danny 
and the body remained on deck. Still the lad could see 
the glow of the fire on the cliff, which was now miles 
away. When the rain ceased, the darkness, which had 
been all but palpable, lifted away, and the stars came 
■out. Towards three in the morning the moon rose, but 
it was soon concealed by a dense black turret cloud that 
reared itself upward from the horizon. All this time 
the fishing-boat lay motionless, with only the lap of the 
waters heard about her. 

The stars died off, the darkness came again, and then, 
far on in the night, the first gray streaks stretching along 
the east foretold the dawn. Over the confines of another 
night the soft daylight was breaking, but more utterly 
lonely, more void, more full of dread and foreboding, 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


121 


was the great waste of waters now that the striding light 
was chasing the curling mists than when the night was 
dead and darkness covered the sea. On one side of 
them no other object on the waters was visible until sky 
and ocean met in that great half-circle far away. On 
the other side was the land which they called home — 
from which they had fled, to which they dare not return. 

Still not a breath of wind. The boat was drifting 
south. The men came up from below. The cold white 
face on the deck looked up at them, and at heaven. 

We must put it away,*' said one, in a low murmur. 

Aye,’* said another. Not a second word was spoken. 
A man went below and brought up an old sail. Two 
heavy iron weights, used for holding down the nets, 
were fetched up from the hold. There was no singing 
out. They took up what lay there cold and stiff, and 
wrapped it in the canvas, putting one of the weights at 
the head and another at the feet. Silently one man sat 
down with a sail -maker’s needle and string, and began 
to stitch it up. 

‘‘Will the string hold?” asked another; “is it 
strong enough ? ” 

“ It will last him this voyage out — it’s a short one, 
poor fellow.” 

Awe and silence sat on the crew. 

Danny, his eyes suffused with an unearthly light, 
watched their movements from the bow. When he was 
lifted aboard last night a dull, dense aching at his heart 
was all the consciousness he had, and then the world was 
dead to him. Later on a fluttering within him preceded 
the return of an agonizing sense. Had he not sent his 


122 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


uncle to perdition ? That he had taken a warm human 
life ; that Kisseck, who had been alive, lay dead a few 
feet away from him — this was as nothing to the horrible 
thought that his uncle, a hard man, a brutal man, a sin- 
ful man, had been sent by his hand, hot and unprepared, 
to an everlasting hell. ‘‘Oh, can this have happened?*' 
his bewildered mind asked itself a thousand times, as it 
awoke as often from the half-dream of a stunned and 
paralyzed consciousness. Yet, it was true that such a 
thing had occurred. No, it was not a nightmare. He 
would never, never awake in the morning sunlight and 
smile to know that it was not true. No, no — true, true ; 
true it was even until the day of judgment, and he and 
Kisseck stood once more face to face. 

Danny watched the old man when he whispered into 
the dead ear the words of the mystic charm. He turned 
his eyes to the sinuous trail of light behind him. All 
night long he lay on deck with only the dead for com- 
pany. He saw the other men, but did not speak to 
them. It was as though he himself were already a be- 
ing of another world, and could hold no commerce with 
his kind. 

He thought of Mona, and then his heart was near to 
breaking. With a dumb longing his eyes turned through 
the darkness towards the land. The boat that was sail- 
ing before the wind was carrying him away from her for- 
ever. To his spiritualized sense the water that divided 
them was as the river that would flow for all eternity be- 
tween the blessed and the damned. 

The last ray of hope was flying away. It had once 
visited him, like a gleam of sunlight, that though he 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


12a 


might never clasp her hand on earth, in heaven she 
would yet be his, to love forever and ever. But now be- 
tween them the great gulf was fixed. 

When the gray dawn came in the east, Danny still lay 
in the bow, haggard and pale. The unearthly light that 
now fired his eyes was the first word of a fearful tale. A 
witch’s Sabbath, a devil’s revelry, had begun in his dis- 
tracted brain. In a state of wild hallucination he saw 
his own spectre. It had gone into the body of Kisseck, 
and it was no longer his uncle but himself who lay there 
dead. He was cold ; his face was white, and it stared 
straight up at the sky. He watched with quick eyes the 
movements of the crew. He saw them bring up the 
canvas and the weights. He knew what they were going 
to do ; they were going to bury him in the sea. 

Silently the men brought from below the bank-board 
used in shooting the nets. They lifted the body on to 
it, and then with the scudding-pole they raised one end 
of the board on to the gunwale. 

The boat had drifted many miles. She was now 
almost due west off Peel. The heavy clouds of night 
still rolled before the dawn. A gentle breeze was rising 
in the south-west. 

All hands stood round and lifted their caps. Then 
the old man Quilleash went down on one knee, and laid 
his right hand on the body. Two other men raised the 
other end of the board. 

Z>y bishee jeeah shiny’* murmured the old fisher* 
man. 

“ God prosper you,*’ echoed the others. 


124 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


Then down into the wide waste of still water slid the 
body of Kisseck. 

Danny saw it done. The image that had possession 
of him stood up so vividly before him at that instant that 
he shrieked. He peered into the water as if his eyes 
would bring back what the immemorial sea had swal- 
lowed up forever. 

Forever ? No ! Listen ! 

Listen to that rumble as the waves circle over the spot 
where the body has disappeared ! It is the noise of the 
iron weights shifting from their places. They are tear- 
ing open the canvas in which the body is wrapped. 
They have rolled out of it and sunk into the sea. 

And now look ! 

The body, free of the weights, has come up to the 
•surface. It is floating like a boat. The torn canvas is 
opening out. It is spreading like a sail in the breeze. 
Away it goes over the sea ! It is flying across the 
waters, straight for the land. 

The men stood and stared into each other^s faces in 
speechless dismay. It was though an avenging angel 
had torn the murdered man from their grasp and cried 
aloud in their ears, Blood will have blood.’* 

They strained their eyes to watch it until it became a 
speck in the twilight of the dawn, and could be seen no 
more. 

Nor had the marvel ended yet. A great luminous line 
arose and stretched from their quarter towards the land, 
white as a moon’s water-way, but with no moon to make 


SRE^S ALL THE WOELD TO 3fE. 


125 


it. Flashing along the sea’s surface for several seconds^ 
it seemed to the men like the finger of God marking the 
body’s path on the waters. 

The phenomenon will be understood by those only 
who have marked closely what has been said of the vary- 
ing weather of this fearful night, and can interpret 
aright its many signs. To the crew of the Ben-my- 
Chree it had but one awful explanation. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

‘‘OH, ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON.*' 

As Mona stood at the angle of the mountain-path and 
the road leading to the door of Kisseck’s cottage, she 
saw four men pass her and run into the house. She rec- 
ognized Danny and his uncle, but not Christian. Per- 
haps the darkness deceived her, but she thought the 
other two were Corteen and Killip. After a few min- 
utes she heard loud voices from the cottage, mingled 
with terrific oaths. If the police returned suddenly, 
and were made witnesses of this turmoil, discovery and 
conviction were certain. Mona crept up, meaning to warn 
the men and get them to put out to sea. She knocked, 
and had no answer. She tried the door, and it was 
barred. Still the loud quarrelling continued. Among 
other voices, she recognized Kisseck’s and Danny’s. 
Christian’s voice she could not hear, but in her pertur- 
bation and the angry tumult any voice might escape her. 
Then came the pistol-shot, the cry, the fall, and a long 
silence. She knocked again, and yet again. She called 


126 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


on Christian. She had no reply. She called on Kis- 
seek. Then came the words, ‘‘ Bill is gone to bed.^* 
Somehow, she knew not why, the words chilled her to 
the heart’s core. Fearful, distraught, in the agony of 
uncertainty she fled away to the town. Christian, where 
was he ? Had he indeed passed her among the rest ? 
Was he in that house when that shot was fired? At 
whom ? by whom ? wherefore ? The suspense was more 
terrible than the reality could have been. 

Through Peel and on to Balladhoo Mona ran with 
shuddering heart. She asked for Christian first. How 
well her fears told her that he was not there. She asked 
for the gardener. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, like Tommy- 
Bill-beg, was away at the waits. Something must be 
done, for something terrible had occurred. The hour 
was late, but Mylrea Balladhoo would certainly be awake, 
and waiting the return of Kerruish Kinvig with intelli- 
gence of the expected capture. 

Tell Mr. Mylrea I wish to speak with him at once 
and alone,” said Mona. 

In another moment Mylrea Balladhoo came to the door 
with a lamp held above his head, to catch sight of his 
late visitor. 

'‘Ah, the young woman from Kinvig. Come in, my 
girl; come in, come in.” 

Mona followed the old gentleman into the house. 
Her face in the lamplight was ashy pale, the pupils of 
her eyes were dilated, her lips quivered, her fingers 
trembled and were intertwined. 

"Is Mr. Christian at home, sir?” said Mona. 

Mylrea Balladhoo glanced up under his spectacles. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


127 


What Kerruish Kinvig had once said of Christian and 
this young woman flashed across his mind at that instant. 
‘‘No, my girl, no. Christian is helping the Castle 
Rushen men to lay hands on that gang of scoundrels, 
you know.*’ 

“ He is not with them, sir,” said Mona, with a fear- 
ful effort. 

“Oh, yes, though; I sent Jemmy after him to in- 
struct him. But he’ll be home soon ; I expect him every 
minute. I hope they’ve captured the vagabonds.” 

It was terrible to go on. Mona lifted up her whole 
soul in prayer for this old man, whose hour of utmost 
need had now come. And she herself was to deal the 
blow that must shatter his happiness. “ God help him,” 
she muttered, passionately, and the involuntary prayer 
was made audible. 

Mylrea Balladhoo rose stiffly to his feet. He looked 
for an instant and in silence into the pale face before 
him. 

“What is it?” he faltered, with an affrighted stare. 
“What news? Is Christian — Where is Christian? 
Have the scoundrels — injured him? ” 

“ He was one of themselves,” said Mona, and dropped 
to her knees in the depth of her agony. 

Then slowly, disjointedly, inconsequentially, repeating 
incident after incident beginning again and again, explain- 
ing, excusing, praying for pardon, and clasping the old 
man’s knees in the tempest of her passion, Mona told the 
whole story as she knew it : how she had heard too late that 
Christian had gone out in Kisseck’s boat ; how she tried 
to compass his rescue ; how, at the very crown and top 


128 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


of what she mistook for her success, the hand of Fate itself 
seemed to have been thrust in, to the ruin of all. She 
finished with the story of the flight of the four men to 
Kisseck’s cottage, the quarreling there, the pistol-shot, 
and the strange answer to her knock. 

Mylrea Balladhoo stood still with the stupid, bewild- 
ered look of one who has been dealt an unexpected and 
dreadful blow. The world seemed to be crumbling 
under him. At that first instant there was something like 
a ghastly smile playing over his pallid face. Then the 
truth came rolling over his soul. The sight was fearful 
to look upon. He fell back with a low moan. But the 
good God sent the stricken old man the gift of tears. 
He wept aloud, and cried that he could better have 
borne poverty than such disgrace. ‘‘Oh, my son, my 
son ! how have you shortened my days ! how have you 
clothed me with shame; oh, my son, my son! ” But 
love was uppermost even in that bitter hour. 

It was not for this that Mona had made her way to 
Balladhoo. She wanted help. She must find where 
Christian was, and whether in truth he had been one of 
the four who passed her on the mountain-path. 

Together she and Mylrea Balladhoo set off for Kis- 
seck’s cottage. How the old father tottered on the way ! 
How low his head was bent, as if the darkness itself had 
eyes to peer into his darkened soul ! 

When they reached the cottage in the quarry the door 
was wide open. All was silent now. No one was within. 
A candle burned low on the table. The fire was out. 
A soft seaman’s cap lay near the porch. Mona picked 
it up. It was Danny Fayle’s. They stepped into tbc 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


129 


kitchen. A shallow pool was in the middle of the floor, 
and the light from the candle flickered in it. It was a 
pool of blood. 

My son, my son ! cried Mylrea Balladhoo. His 
knees failed him, and he sank to the floor. Tortured by 
suspense, bewildered, distracted, in an agony of doubt, 
he had jumped to the conclusion that this was Christian’s 
blood, and that he had been murdered. No protest from 
Mona, no argument, no entreaty, prevailed to disturb 
that instant inference. 

He is dead, he is dead ! ”he cried ; now is my heart 
smitten and withered like grass.” Then, rising to his 
feet, and gazing through his poor blurred eyes into 
Mona’s face with a look of reproach, Young woman,” 
he said, why would you torture an old man with words 
of hope? Christian is dead. My son is dead. Dead? 
Can it be true? Yes, dead. Lord, Lord, now let me 
eat ashes for bread, and mingle my drink with weeping.” 

And so he poured out his soul in a torrent of wiid la- 
ments. Debts were as trifles to this. Disgrace was but 
as a dream to this dread reality. Oh, my son, my son. 
Would to God I had died for thee. Oh, my son, my 
son ! ” 

Mona stood by, and saw the unassuageable grief shake 
him to the soul. Then she took his hand in silence, and 
together they stepped again into the night. Out of that 
chamber of death Mylrea went forth a shattered man. 
He would not return to Balladhoo. Side by side they 
tramped up and down the harbor quay the long night 
through. Up and down, up and down, through 
darkness and rain, and then under moonlight and the 
9 


130 


SEE^S ALL THE WOULD TO ME, 


stars, until the day dawned and the cheerless sun rose 
over the sleeping town. 

Very pitiful was it to see how the old man’s soul strug- 
gled with a vain effort to glean comfort from his faith. 
Every text that rose to his heart seemed to wound it 
afresh. 

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man, so are 
children of the youth. . . . They shall not be ashamed. 
... Oh, Absalom, my son, my son. ... For thy sake 
I have borne reproach ; shame hath covered my face. 
. . I am poor and needy ; make haste unto me, O 

GcTd. . . . Hide not Thy face from Thy servant, for I 
am iri trouble. . . . Set thine house in order. . . . Oh, 
God, Thou knowest my foolishness. . . . The waters have 
overwhelmed me, the streams have gone over my soul, 
the proud waters have gone over my soul.” 

Thus hour after hour, tottering feebly at Mona’s side 
leaning sometimes on the girl’s arm, the old man poured 
forth his grief. At one moment, as they stood by the 
ruined end of the pier, and Danny’s gorse fire glowed 
red over the Lockjaw Creek, and the moon broke through 
a black rain-cloud over the town, the sorrowing man 
turned calmly to Mona and said, with a strange resigna- 
tion : ‘‘I will be quiet. Christian is dead. Surely I 

shall quiet myself as a child that is weaned of its mother. 
Yes, my soul is even as a weaned child.” 

Just then two of the police who had been on the cliff- 
head came up and spoke. 

‘‘They have escaped us so far, sir,” he said, “but 
we are certain to have them. The fire yonder was lit to 
warn them. Your fishing-boat, the Ben-my-Chree^ has 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


131 


been taken out to sea. Every man that is in her must 
be captured. Don’t trouble to stay longer, sir. We are 
posted everywhere about. They are doomed men. 
Make your mind easy, sir, and go off to your bed. 
Good-night.” 

Mona felt the old man’s arm tremble as it lay on 
hers. 

The day dawned, and they parted. Mylrea Balladhoo 
said he would go home now, and away he started along 
the shore. With the coming of daylight his sorrow bled 
afresh, and he cried piteously. 

Mona turned in the opposite direction. She, on her 
part, had not given up hope of Christian. She could 
not forget that she had not recognized him among the 
men who ran past her into Kisseck’s house. Christian 
was still alive, but who was it that was dead ? 

Mona stopped. The seaman’s cap which she had 
picked up at the porch of the deserted cottage in the 
quarry she had carried all night in her hand. At that 
instant she looked at it again, and seeing it for the first 
time in the daylight, she saw that it was stained with 
spots of blood. It was Danny Fayle’s cap. Then it 
must be Danny who was dead. The inference in her 
case was as swift as in the case of Mylrea Balladhoo. 
And as little would argument or entreaty have prevailed 
to disturb it. 

Danny was dead, and it was she who had sent him to 
his death. His great little heart that had been broken 
for love of her, had also died for her sake. 

And now the anguish of the girl was not less than that 


132 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


of the old man himself. Where was Christian ? Did 
he know what Kisseck had done ? It must have been 
Kisseck. But God would punish him. Had Christian 
gone out to sea ? 

Mona set off for the Lockjaw Creek, thinking that 
some trace of Christian might perhaps be found there. 

She took the high path. The sun had risen, and the 
gorse fire burned blue. When she came by the mouth 
of the old mine she was thinking both of Danny and of 
Christian. *^He will be cold now; he will be in 
heaven,*’ she muttered to herself. 

Then it was that, half-buried in the pit, she saw the 
pallid, deep-ploughed face of Christian himself. She 
could not suppress a cry. Then she heard the creak and 
fall of the timbers under him. For a moment she lost 
consciousness, and in another moment she was in Chris- 
tian’s arms. 

Hardly had the bewildered senses of these two re- 
gained an instant’s composure when a man came running 
towards them from the town. In disjointed words he 
told them that some fearful thing had washed ashore in 
the bay, and that Mylrea Balladhoo was there, raving 
over it like one mad. This is what had happened. 

As Balladhoo turned along the shore towards his home, 
bemoaning what he believed to be the death of Chris- 
tian, his dazed eye caught sight of a curious object 
some distance out at sea. It might be a gig with a sail, 
but it looked too small. It might be a diver or a solan 
goose with outspread wings, but it looked too large. 
What it was mattered little to him. The world had lost 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


133 


its light. The sun that shone above him entered not 
into his soul. His days henceforth were to be but as a 
shadow that passeth away. 

Balladhoo walked on, moaning and crying aloud. As 
he approached his house every step awoke a new grief ; 
every stone, every hedge, was sacred to some memory. 
Here he had seen the lad playing with other lads. Here, 
laughing and calling, he had seen him ride the rough 
colt his father gave him. As he opened the gate he 
could almost imagine he saw a fair-haired boy running 
to meet him, a whip in one hand and a toy horse tumb- 
ling behind. Balladhoo lifted his head to brush away 
the blinding tears. As he did so his eyes fell on a win- 
dow in the gable half-hidden by the leafless boughs of an 
old rose-tree. That awoke the bitterest and oldest 
memory of all. It was of a fair young woman’s form, 
with joy in the blue eyes and laughter on the red lips. 
In her arms was a child, and as she cried to it Look,” 
the little one, plunging and leaping, called Papa, 
papa,” and clapped its tiny hands. 

The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; 
blessed. . . . 

No, Mylrea Balladhoo could not enter his house. It 
was full of too many spectres. 

He turned back. It was to be anywhere ; he knew 
not where. Jemmy, the gardener, who had been awake 
all night in amazement and distress at his master’s ab- 
sence, saw him now approach the house, went up to his 
side, tried to speak to him, and, failing to get a word in 
reply, walked in silence by his side. 

He returned along the shore. And now the white 


134 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


thing which he had seen before was within fifty yards of 
the beach, and was sailing due to land. What could it 
be ? In a minute it drifted to Balladhoo’s feet, and then 
he saw that it was a human body which had been bound 
in canvas for burial at sea, and had come ashore in this 
strange way. He gave it but one glance. He did not 
look to see whose body it was. He concluded at once 
that it must be the body of Christian. Had he 'not 
heard that the men had put out to sea ? They had taken 
the body of his murdered son with them, and tried to 
bury it there and hide their crime forever. It was all so 
terribly plain to Balladhoo’s bewildered mind. Then he 
cried aloud in a tempest of agony that nothing could re- 
strain. His religion seemed to desert him. At least it 
gave no comfort. His face became suddenly and aw- 
fully discolored and stern, and, standing by the dread 
thing on the sand, the tottering old man lifted his 
clinched fist to the sky in silent imprecation of Heaven. 

Jemmy Quark left him, and, rushing to the town, cried 
out that something horrible had washed ashore. One of 
those who heard him had seen Mona and Balladhoo part 
on the quay. This man went in pursuit of the young 
woman, who had been seen to take the path over Con- 
trary. 

And now Christian and Mona, with a group of others, 
hastened to the bay. There — seeing nothing but the 
dread thing lying on the shore — was Mylrea Balladhoo. 
He was crying aloud that if Heaven had spared his boy 
Hell might have taken all else he had. 

“ Oh, my son, my son, would to God I had died foi 
you ! Oh, my son, my son ! 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


135 


Then the stricken father went down on his knees, and 
stretched out a feeble, trembling hand to draw aside the 
canvas that hid the face. 

As he did so Mona and Christian came up. Chris- 
tian stood opposite his father on the other side of the 
corpse ; the old man on his knees, the son on his feet, 
the dead man between them. 

The others stood around. None spoke. Then Mona, 
motioning Christian to silence, stepped up to Balladhoo 
and knelt beside him. It was better that he should real- 
ize the truth by degrees and not too suddenly. He 
would see the face^ and know that it was not the face of 
his son. Mona, on her part, knew it would be Danny’s 
face. And the boy was dead. The beating of her heart 
fell k)w. 

There was a moment of unutterable suspense. Then, 
with rapid, audible breath, the old man stretched out a 
half-palsied hand and drew off the loose canvas. 

They saw the face of Kisseck. 

Balladhoo got up with great wide eyes. There before 
him, face to face with him, was Christian himself. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
she’s all the world to me. 

When the crew of the Ben-my- Chree had recovered 
fom their first consternation on seeing the body of 
Kisseck rise to the surface and shoot away like a spectre 
boat, they hoisted sail and stood once more out to sea. 
The gentle breeze filled the canvas, and for half an hour 


136 


SHE ^8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


the jib lay over the side, while the fishing-boat scudded 
along like a startled bird. 

The sun rose over the land, a thin gauze obscuring it. 
The red light flashed and died away as if the wind were 
the sunshine. The haggard faces of the men caught at 
moments a lurid glow from it. In the west a mass of 
bluish cloud rested a little while on the horizon, and 
then passed into a nimbus of gray rain-cloud that floated 
above it. Such was the dawn and sunrise of a fateful 
day. 

They were sailing north ; they had no haven in their 
view. But Peel was behind them. Think what home is 
to the fisherman who goes down into the great deep. 
Then know that to them home could be all this no 
longer. The silvery voices of girls, the innocent prattle 
of little children, the welcome of wife, the glowing 
hearth — these were theirs no more. Then belly out, 
brave sail, and back off with a noise like thunder ; let 
the blocks creak, and the ropes strain. Anywhere, any- 
where, away from the withering reproach of the crime 
of one and the guilt of all. 

But they were standing only two miles off Jurby Point 
when once more the wind fell to a dead calm. The men 
looked into each other^s faces. Here was the work of 
fate. There was to be no flying away; God meant 
them to die on these waters. The sail flapped idly ; 
they furled it, and the boat drifted south. 

Then one after one sat down on the deck, helpless and 
hopeless. Hours went by. The day wore on. A pass- 
ing breath sometimes stirred the waters, and again all 
around was dumb, dead, pulseless peace. Hearing only 


SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


137 


the faint flap of the rippling tide, they drifted, drifted, 
drifted. 

Then they thought of home once more, and now 
with other feelings. Death was before them — slow, sure, 
relentless death. There was to be no jugglery. Let it be 
death at home rather than death on this desert sea. 
Anything, anything but this blind end — this dumb end ; 
this dying bit by bit on still waters. To see the dark- 
ness come again and the sun rise afresh, and once more 
the sun sink and the darkness deepen, and still to lie 
there with nothing around but the changeless sea, and 
nothing above but the empty sky, and only the eye of 
God upon them, while the winds and the waters lay in 
His avenging hand. Let it rather be death — swift 
death, just death — there where their crime was at- 
tempted, and one black deed was done. 

Thus despair took hold of them and drove all fear 
away. Each hard man, with despair seated on his 
rugged face, longed, like a sick child, to lay his head 
in the lap of home. 

“ What's it saying ? '' muttered the old man Quilleash, 
*** A. green hill when far away; bare, bare when it is 
near.* " 

It was some vague sense of their hopelessness that was 
floating through the old man’s mind as he recalled the 
pathetic Manx proverb. The others looked down at the 
deck with a stony stare. 

Danny still lay forward. When the speck that had 
glided along the waters could be seen no more, he had 
turned and gazed in silence towards the eastern light 
and the distant shores of morning. If madness be the 


138 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


symbol on earth of the tortures of the damned, Danny 
had then a few hours’ blessed respite. He saw calmly 
what he had done and why he had done it. ‘‘ Surely, 
God is just,” he thought: ‘‘surely He will not con- 
demn me; surely, surely not.” Then, amid surging 
inward tears, which his eyes refused to shed, the simple 
lad tried to recall the good words that he had heard in 
the course of his poor, neglected, battered life. One 
after one they came back to him, most of them from 
some far-away and hazy dream-world, strangely bright 
with the vision of a face that looked fondly upon him, 
and even kissed him tenderly. “ Gentle Jesus ! ” and 
‘‘ Now I lay me down to sleep” — he could remember 
them both pretty well, and their simple words went up 
with the supplicatory ardor of his great grown heart to 
the sky on which his longing eyes were bent. 

The thought of Mona intertwined itself with the yearn- 
ing hope of pardon and peace. It sustained him now to 
think of her. She became part of his scheme of penit- 
ence. His love for her was to redeem him in the 
Father’s eye. He was to take it to the foot of God’s 
white throne, and when his guilt came up for judgment 
he was to lay it meekly there and look up into the good 
Father’s face. God had sent him his great love, and it 
was not for his harm that he had sent it. 

Then a film overspread his sight, and when he awoke 
he knew that he had slept. He had seen Mona in a 
dream. There was a happy thought in her face. - She 
loved and was beloved. Everything about her spoke of 
peace. All her troubles were gone forever. No, not 
that either. In her eyes was the reflection of his own 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


139 


face, and sometimes it made them sad. At the memory 
of this the dried-up well of Danny’s own eyes moistened 
at last to tears. 

The cold, thick winter day was far worn ^-owards sun- 
set. Not a breath of wind was stirring. Gilded by the 
sun’s rays, the waters to the west made a floor of bleared 
red. The fishing-boat had drifted nearly ten miles to 
the south. If she should drift two miles more she must 
float into the south-easterly current that flows under 
Contrary Head. The crew lay half-frozen on the deck. 
No one cared to go below. All was still around them, 
and silence was in their midst. At last a man lifted his 
head, and asked if any one could say what had become 
of Christain. No one knew. Old Quilleash thought 
he must have come by some mischief, and perhaps be 
captured or even dead. It was only the general hope- 
lessness of their hearts that gave a ready consent to this 
view of the possibilities. Then they talked of Christian 
as if he were no longer a living man. 

‘‘ He didn’t want to be in it, didn’t the young mast- 
her,” said one. 

‘‘ Did you see how he was for criss-crossin’ and put- 
ting up obstacles at every turn ? ” said another. 

** That was nothin’ to the way he was glad when we 
saw the lad’s fire over the Lockjaw, and had to make a 
slant for it and leave the thing not done.” 

‘‘Aw, well, well,” said Quilleash, “it was poor Bill 
that’s gone, God help him, that led the young masther 
into the shoal water. What’s it sayin’ ? — ‘ Black as is 
the raven, he’ll get a partner; ’ but Bill, poor chap, he 
must be for makin’ a raven out of a dove.” 


140 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 


God won’t be hard on the masther. No, no, 
God’ll never be hard on a good heart because it keeps 
company with a bad head.” 

It’ll be Bill, poor chap, that’ll have to stand for it 
when the big day comes,” said Davy Cain. 

‘‘No, not that anyway. Still, for sure, it’s every 
herring must hang by his own gill. Aw, yes, man,” 
said Tommy Tear. 

“ Poor Masher Christian,” said Quilleash, “ I remem- 
ber him since he was a baby in his mother’s arms — and 
a fine lady, too. And when he grew up it was, ‘ How 
are you, Billy Quilleash ? ’ And when he came straight 
from Oxford College, and all the laming at him, and 
the fine English tongue, and all to that, it was, ‘ And 
how are you to-day, Billy ? ’ ‘I’m middlin’ to-day, 
Masther Christian.’ Aw, yes, yes, a tender heart at 
him anyhow, and no pride at all, at all.” 

The old man’s memories were not thrilling to narrate, 
but they brought the tears to his eyes, and he brushed 
them away with his sleeve. 

They were now drifting past Peel, two miles from the 
coast. It was Christmas-eve. Old Quilleash thought 
of this, and they talked of Christmas-eves gone by, and 
of what happy days there had been. This was too ten- 
der a chord, and they were soon silent once more. 
Then, while the waters lay cold and clear and still, and 
the sun was sinking in the west, there came floating to 
them from the land through the breathless air the sound 
of church-bells. It was the last drop in their cup. The 
rude men could bear up no longer. More than one 
dropped his head on to his knees and sobbed aloud. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


141 


Then Quilleash, in a husky voice, and coarsely, as if 
ashamed of the impulse, said, Some one pray, will 
you?** Ay,” said another. ‘‘Ay,** said a third. 
But no one prayed. 

“You, Billy,** said one. The old man had never 
known a prayer. 

“You, Davy.** Davy shook his head. None could 
pray. 

All lay quiet as death around them. Only the faint 
sound of the bells was borne to them as a mellow whis- 
per. 

Then Danny rose silently to his feet. No one had 
thought of asking him. With that longing look in his 
big eyes, he turned to the land and began to sing. He 
was thinking of Mona. All his soul was going out to 
her. She was his anchor, his hope, his prayer. The 
lad*s voice, laden with tears, floated away over the great 
waters. This was what he sang : 

Her brow is like the snaw -drift 
Her neck is like the swan, 

Her face it is the fairest 
That e’er the sun shone on ; 

That e’er the sun shone on. 

* * * * 

And she’s a’ the world to me ; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I’d lay me doon and dee.” 

The boy’s eyes were bright with a radiant brightness, 
and glistening tears ran down his face in gracious drops 
like dew. The men hung their heads and were mute. 


142 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


All at once there came a breath of wind. At first it 
was as soft as an angel’s whisper. Then it grew stronger 
and ruffled the sea. Every man lifted his eyes and 
looked at his mates. Each was struggling with a pain- 
ful idea that perhaps he was the victim of a delusion of 
the sense. But the chill breath of the wind was indeed 
among them. ‘‘ Isn’t it beginning to puff up from the 
sou’-west?” asked one, in a hoarse whisper. 

At that Davy Cain jumped to his feet. The idea of 
the supernatural had already gone from him, at l^st. 
** Now for the sheets, and to make sail,” he cried. 

As mate formerly, Davy constituted himself skipper 
now. 

One after one the men got up and bustled about. 
Their limbs were well-nigh frozen stiff. 

Heave hearty, men; heave and away.” 

All was stir and animation in an instant. Pulling at 
the ropes, the men had begun to laugh — yes, with their 
husky, grating, tear-drowned voices even to laugh. 

‘‘Bear a hand, men. We’re drifting fast into the 
down-stream to Contrary,” cried Davy. 

Then a grewsome sense of the ludicrous took hold of 
him. It was the swift reaction from solemn thoughts. 

“ Lay on, Quilleash, my man. Why, you’re going 
about like a brewing-pan. What are your arms for, eh ? 

The old fellow’s eyes, that had been dim with tears a 
moment ago, glistened with grisly mischief. 

“ Who hasn’t heard that a Manxman’s arms are three 
legs? ” he said, with a hungry smile. 

How the men laughed ! What humor there was now 
in the haggard old saw ! 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


143 


Where are you for, Davy?^^ cried one. 

Scotland — Shetlands,” answered Davy, indefinitely. 

‘‘Hooraa ! Bold fellow. Ha, ha, ha, he.** 

‘‘ Tve been there before to-day, Davy,** said Quil- 
kash ; they*re all poor men there ; but it*s right kind 
they are. Aw, yes, it*s safe and well we* 11 be when 
we*re there. What*s it sayin* ? — ‘ When one poor man 
helps another poor man, God laughs.’ ** 

How they worked ! In two minutes mainsail and 
mizzen were up, and they filled away and stood out. 
But they had drifted into the down -stream, though they 
knew it not as yet. 

From the shores of death they had sailed somehow 
into the waters of life. Hope was theirs once more. 

They began to talk of what had caused the wind. 
*‘It was the blessed St. Patrick,** said Killip. St. 
Patrick was the patron saint of that sea, and Killip was 
a Catholic and more than half an Irishman. 

** St. Patrick be ,** cried Davy Cain, with ascorn^ 

ful laugh. They got to high words, and at length 
almost to blows. 

Old Quilleash had been at the tiller. His grisly face 
had grown ghastly again. Drop it, men,** he cried, 
in a voice of fear. ‘‘Look yanderl D’ye see what*s 
coming ? ** 

The men looked towards the west. The long, thin 
cloud which Danny knew as the cat’s-tail was scudding 
fast in the line of their starboard quarter. 

** Make all snug,** cried Davy. 

A storm was coming. It was very near; in ten 
minutes it was upon them. It was a terrific tempest. 


144 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


and they knew now that they were in the down* 
stream. 

The men stared once more into each others’ faces. 
Their quips were gone ; their hopeful spirits had broken 
down. 

‘^God, it’s running a ten-knots’ tide,” shouted Quil- 
leash. 

‘‘And we’re driving before it — dead on for Peel,” 
answered Davy, with an appalling look of fear towards 
the west, where the wind was seen to be churning the 
long waves into foam. 

Danny saw it all, but there was no agony in his face 
and no cry of dread on his lips. “ I think at whiles 
I’d like to die in a big sea like that.” His despair was 
courage now. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE world’s want IS MEN. 

In the old house at Balladhoo, three hearts nearly 
made glad had still one painful passage to experience. 
It was dusk. By the fire stood Mylrea Balladhoo, with 
Mona Cregeen seated beside him. Christian had 
stepped to the door, and now returning to the room 
with the stranger previously seen in his company, he 
said, with averted face, “This is the man, father.” 

Balladhoo neither lifted his eyes to the new-comer nor 
shifted their gaze from the fire. His frame trembled 
perceptibly as he said, “ I know your business, sir, and 
it shall have my attention.” The stranger glanced from 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


145 


father to son. They stood apart, each unable to meet 
the other’s face. Perhaps there is no more touching 
sight in nature, rightly regarded, than an old man, and 
to the pathos incident to age Balladhoo added the sor- 
row of a wretched and shattered hope. 

May I ask if this deed was drawn by your author- 
ity? ” said the stranger. He stepped up to the old man, 
and put the document into his listless hand. Balladhoo 
glanced down at it, but his poor blurred eyes saw 
nothing. 

‘‘Yes,” he answered, promptly enough, but in a 
husky voice. Christian’s face quivered, and his head 
dropped on his breast. The stranger looked incredu- 
lous. “It is quite right if you say so,” he answered, 
with a cold smile. 

Balladhoo lifted his face. It was seamed with lines of 
pain, and told of a terrible struggle. ^^1 do say so,” 
he replied. 

His fingers crumpled the deed as he spoke ; but his 
head was erect, and truth seemed to sit on his lips. 
Christian sat down and buried his eyes in his hand. 

The stranger smiled again the same cold smile. “ The 
mortgageor wishes to withdraw the mortgage,” he said. 

“He may do so — in fifteen days,” answered Balla- 
dhoo. 

“That will suffice. It would be cruel to prolong a 
painful interview.” 

Then, with a glance towards Christian, as be sat 
convulsed with distress that he was unable to conceal, 
the stranger added, in a hard tone, 

“ Only, the mortgageor came to have reasons to 
10 


146 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


that perhaps the deed had been drawn without your 
knowledge.*^ 

Ballad hoo handed back the document with a nerveless 
hand. He looked again through dim eyes at the 
stranger, and said quietly, but with an awful inward 
effort, You have my answer — I knew of it.** 

The recording angel set down the words in the Book 
of Life to the old man’s credit in heaven. They were 
not true. 

The stranger bowed low and retired. 

Christian leaped up and took his father by both 
hands, but his eyes were not raised to the troubled face. 

‘‘ This is worse than all,” he said, “ but God knows 
everything. He will make me answer for it.” 

What is the debt ? ” asked Balladhoo, with an effort 
to be calm. 

Money squandered in England.” 

The old man shook his head with an impatient ges- 
ture. 

I mean how much ? ” 

A thousand pounds.” There was a pause. 

‘‘We can meet it,” said Balladhoo; “and now, my 
son, cheer up ; set your face the right way, and His serv- 
ant shall not be ashamed.” 

Christian strode up and down the room. His agita- 
tion was greater than before. “ I feel less than a man,” 
he said. “ Oh, but a hidden sin is a mean thing, father 
— a dwarfing, petrifying, corroding, unmanly thing. 
And to think that I could descend so low as to try to 
conceal it — a part of it — by consorting with a gang of 
lawless fellows — ^by a vulgar outrage that might have 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


147 


ended in death itself but that the hand of Heaven inter- 
posed ! ” 

‘‘You are not the first/* answered Balladhoo, “who 
has descended from deceit to the margin of crime ; but 
it isn*t for me to judge you. Read your misfortunes, 
my lad, as Heaven writes them. Are they not warnings 
against the want of manliness ? No, it’s not for me to 
say it ; but if there’s one thing truer than another, it is 
that the world wants men. Clever fellows, good fellows, 
it has ever had in abundance, but in all ages the world’s 
great want has been men,'' 

Balladhoo glanced down at Mona. Throughout this 
interview she had sat with eyes bent on her lap. The 
old man touched the arm of his son and continued, 

“ As for the hand of Heaven, it has worked through 
the hand of this dear, brave girl. You owe her your 
life, Christian, and so do 1.” 

Then 'the young man, with eyes aflame, walked to 
Mona and lifted her into his arms. The girl looked 
very beautiful in her confusion, and while she sobbed on 
Christian’s breast, and Balladhoo looked on with won- 
dering eyes, Christian confessed everything; how, in 
effect, Mona had been his wife for six years past, and 
little Ruby was their child. 

It was a staggering blow. But when the surprise of it 
was past, all was forgiven. 

“You love my boy?” said Balladhoo, turning to 
Mona. 

The girl could not answer in words. She threw her 
arms around the old man’s neck, and he kissed her. 
Then through the tears that had gathered in his blurred 


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SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


old eyes there shot a merry gleam as he said above the 
girl’s hidden face, Oh, so I’ve got to be happy yet, I 
find.” 

There came the noise of people entering the house. 
In another moment Kerruish Kinvig had burst in with 
one of the Castle Rushen men behind him. 

Manxman-like, he’s a dog after the fair, and away 
from Peel to-night,” bawled Kinvig, indicating the sub- 
ject of his inconsequent remarks by a contemptuous 
lurch of his hand over his shoulder. 

“We stayed too long in hiding,” said the man, with a 
glance of self-justification. 

“ Of course,” shouted Kinvig, oblivious of the insin- 
uation against his own leadership; “and who hasn’t 
heard that the crab that lies always in its hole is never 
fat?” 

“ The fishing-boat is still at sea, sir. It’s scarce 
likely that the men will come back to Peel,” said the 
man, addressing Balladhoo. 

“ Who dreamed that they would ? ” ^ied Kinvig. 
“ What black ever stamped on his own foot? ” 

“ We’re trusting you think we’ve done our best, sir,” 
continued the man, ignoring the interruptions. 

“Eaten bread is quick forgotten,” shouted Kinvig. 
“ What you’ve done you’ve done, and there’s an end of 
it, and it’s not much either ; and if I were magistrate, 
I’d have the law on the lot of you for a pack of incom- 
petent loblolly boys. Wouldn’t you, Christian ? ” 

“You have done your best,” said Balladhoo, and the 
man left them. “As for you, Kerruish,” he added, 
“ if you’d had the ill-luck to succeed, think what a sad 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


149 


dog you must have been by this time ; you would have 
had nothing to growl about.’* 

Christian had walked to the window. ‘‘Hark,” he 
said, turning to Mona, “the wind is rising. What of 
those poor fellows outside ? ” The melancholy sough of 
the wind could be heard above the low moan of the dis- 
tant sea. Mona thought of Danny, and the tears came 
again into her eyes. 

It was time for the girl to return home. Christian put 
on his hat to accompany her, and when they left the 
house together he laughed, dejected though he was, at 
the bewildered look on the face of Kerruish Kinvig as 
he glanced in stupid silence from Balladhoo to them, 
and from them back to Balladhoo. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE FAIRY THAT CAME FOR RUBY. 

The night was dark, and the wind was chill outside, 
but light and warmth were in two happy hearts. With 
arms entwined and elapsed hands they walked down the 
familiar road, transfigured now into strange beauty at 
every step. When two souls first pour out their flood of 
love, whatever the present happiness, it is the uncon- 
scious sense of a glad future that thrills them. It was 
the half-conscious sense of a sad past shared together 
that touched these two to-night. 

“ I feel like another man,” said Christian ; “to have 
the weight of these six years of disguise lifted away is a 
new birth.** He seemed to breathe more freely. 


150 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


‘‘ How glad I am it is gone, this haunting secret, 
said Mona, with a sigh of relief ; but suddenly a fresh 
torment suggested itself. “ What will people say ? she 
asked. 

“ Don’t think of that. Let people say what they will. 
In these relations of life the world has always covered its 
nakedness in the musty rags of its old conventions, and 
dubbed its clothes morality. We’ll not heed what people 
say, Mona.” 

“But the child?” said the girl, with some tremor 
of voice. Christian answered the half-uttered ques- 
tion, 

‘ ‘ Ruby is as much my daughter as Rachel was the 
daughter of Laban, and you are even now as much my 
wife as she was the wife of Jacob.’* 

Mona glanced up into his face. * * Can this be, 
Christian? ” she thought. 

“ Where one man sets himself apart for one woman,** 
he continued, “ there is true marriage, whether the mystic 
symbol of the Church be used or not. No ; I’ve feared 
the world too long. I mean to face it now.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Christian,” an- 
swered Mona. “ But surely to defy the world is foolish- 
ness, and marriage is a holy thing.” 

He stopped, and, with a smile, kissed the girl 
tenderly. ‘ • Never fear, darling — that shall be made as 
the world wants it. I was thinking of the past, not the 
future. And if ours was a sin, it was one of passion 
only, and we whispered each other — did we not ? — that 
He who gave the love would forgive its transgression.** 
Then they walked on. In the distance the hill above 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


15 ] 


glowed red through the darkness. Danny’s Contrary 
fire, which had smouldered all day, showed brightly 
again. 

‘‘Oh, how glad I am that all is over,” repeated the 
girl, creeping closer beneath Christian’s arm. “You 
said to-night to your father that a secret sin is a corrod- 
ing thing. How truly I’ve felt it so when I’ve thought 
of my own poor father. You never knew him. He died 
before you came to us. He was a good, simple man, 
and loved us, though perhaps he left us poorer than we 
might have been, and more troubled than we were in the 
old days at Glen Rushen.” 

“ No, I never knew him ; but the thought of him has 
stung me to the quick when I’ve seen his daughter work- 
ing for daily bread. It has been then that I’ve felt my- 
self the meanest of men.” 

“Christian,” continued Mona, regardless of the in- 
terruption, “have you ever thought that the dead are 
links that connect us with the living? ” 

“ How? ” 

“ Well, in this way. From our kin in heaven we can 
have 'no secrets ; and when the living kin guess our 
hidden thought, our secret act, perhaps it has been our 
dead kin who have whispered of it.” 

“ That is a strange fancy, Mona, an awful fancy. Few 
of us would dare to have secrets if we accepted it ” 

They were approaching the cottage, and could hear a 
merry child’s voice singing. “ Listen,” said Mona, and 
they stoppedo Then the girl’s head dropped. Tears 
were again in her eyes. 

“She’s been sorrow as well as happiness to yow, my 


152 


SHE ^8 ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


brave Mona,” said Christian. And he put her arms 
about his neck. 

The girl lifted her face to his in the darkness. 
^^That^s true,” she said. ‘‘ Ah, how often in the early 
days did I gaze into the face of my fatherless little one, 
and feel a touch of awe in the presence of the mute soul 
that lay behind the speechless baby face, and wonder if 
some power above had told it something that its mother 
must needs hide from it, and if, when it spoke, it would 
reproach me with its own shame, or pity me for mine.” 

Christian smoothed her hand tenderly. If the child 
suffered,” he said, ‘‘ before her race of life began, let it 
be mine henceforth to make it up to her with all that love 
can yet do.” 

‘‘ And when I heard its cry,” said Mona, ** its 
strange, pitiful cry as it awoke from that mystery, a 
baby’s troubled dream, and looked into its red startled 
eyes and into its little face, all liquid grief, and said 
‘ It’s only a dream, darling,* the thought has sometimes 
stolen up to my heart that perhaps some evil spirit had 
whispered to it the story of its shame — for what else had 
it to cry about so bitterly ? ” 

Christian kissed her again, a great gulp in his throat. 
^^Yes,” he said, 'Mn the eyes of men we may have 
wronged the child, but in the eternal world, when these 
few painful years are as a span, she will be ours indeed, 
and God will not ask by right of what symbol we claim 
ker.” 

They had walked to the gate. 

Wait ! ” said Mona, and ran towards the door. 

Christian thought she had gone to prepare her mothd# 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


153 


but returning in an instant, and on tiptoe, with the light 
of laughter struggling through her tears, she beckoned 
him to follow her, with stealthy tread. Creeping up 
to the window, she took his hand and whispered. 
Look ! »» 

They were standing in the darkness and cold, but the 
house within was bright this winter's night,' with one 
little human flower in bloom. Ruby had dressed the 
kitchen in hibbin and hollen, and had scattered wheaten 
flour over the red berries to resemble snow. She was 
standing near Mrs. Cregeen's knee, being undressed for 
bed. Her heart had leaped all day at the thought of a 
nevv hat, which she was to wear for the first time next 
morning. This treasure had been hung on a peg over 
the plates above the dresser, and at intervals more or less 
frequent Ruby twisted about and cocked her eye up at 
it. It took a world of stolen glances to grow familiar 
with the infinite splendor of its bow and feather. While 
the threads and the buttons were being undone Ruby 
sang and gossiped. A well-filled water-crock had been 
set on the table, and touching this, the little one 
said. 

Do the fairies bathe in winter? ” 

‘‘ So they're saying, my veen," answered Mrs. 
Cregeen. 

Can I see the fairies if I lie awake all night ? Tm 
not a bit sleepy. Can I see them all in their little velvet 
jackets — can I ? " 

No, no ; little girls must go to bed.*' 

There was a pretty pretence at disappointment in the 
downward curve of the lip. The world had no real 


154 


SHE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


sorrow for the owner of that marvellous hat. The next 
instant the child sang — 

« I rede ye beware of the Carrasdoo men 
As ye come up the wold ; 

I rede ye beware of the haunted glen — ” 

Ruby interrupted her song to wriggle out of Mrs. 
Cregeen’s hands, pull off her stocking, and hang it on 
one of the knobs of the dresser. ‘ ‘ I hope it will be the 
Phynnodderee that comes to-night,’^ she said. 

‘‘Why that one ? ” said Mrs. Cregeen, smiling. 

“Because Danny says that’s the fairy that loves little 
Manx girls.” 

“ Danny shouldn’t tell you such foolish old stories.” 

“ Are they stories ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh! ” 

Another sly glance at the wonderful hat on the peg be- 
hind. That was a reality at all events. 

“ But I’m sure a good fairy will come for me to- 
night,” insisted Ruby. 

“ Why are you sure, Ruby veg? ” 

“ Because — because I am.^' 

Christian tightened his grasp of Mona’s hand. 

At that moment a gust of wind passed round the 
house. Mona remembered that to-night she was stand- 
ing with Christian on the spot where last night she had 
parted with Danny. 

“Listen,” said Mrs. Cregeen to the child. “Pity 
the poor sailors at sea.” 

“ Didn’t Mona say Danny was at sea ? ” 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


155 


‘‘Yes, she was saying so.** 

Then the little one sang — 

« In Jorby Curragh they dwell alone 
By dark peat-bogs where the willows moan, 

Down in a gloomy and lonely glen — ” 

“Mammy, had Danny any father ? ** 

“ Everybody had a father, my veen.** 

“ Had Ruby a father? ’* 

“ Hush, Ruby veg ! ** 

Mona’s hand unconsciously pressed the hand of 
Christian. “Oh,” she muttered, and crept closer to 
his breast. Christian’s bowels yearned for the child. 

The silvery voice was singing again — 

« Who has not heard of Adair, the youth ? 

Who does not know that his soul was truth ? 

Woe is me ! how smoothly they speak, 

And Adair was brave, and a man, but weak.” 

“lam quite sure a good fairy is coming,” said Ruby, 
cocking her eye aslant at that peg on the dresser. 

Christian could bear it no longer. He flung open the 
door, and snatched up the darling in his arms. 

An hour later he and Mona came out again into the 
night, leaving the little one with laughing, wondering, 
wakeful eyes in bed, and Mrs. Cregeen sitting before 
the fire with something like happiness in her usually 
mournful face. 

They took the road towards the town. They had no 
errand there, but the restless, tumultuous joy of this 
night would not leave them a moment’s peace. 


156 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


As they passed through the Market-place they saw 
that the church windows were lit up. The bells were 
ringing. Numbers of young people were thronging in 
at the gates. But the parson was coming out of them. 
There was no pleasant expression on his face as he be- 
held the throngs that sought admission. It was Oiel 
Verree, the Eve of Mary. The bells were ringing for 
the only service in the year at which not the parson but 
the parishioners presided. It was an old Manx custom, 
that after prayers on Christmas-eve the church should be 
given up to the people for the singing of their native 
carols. Prayers were now over, and on his way through 
the Market-place the parson encountered Tommy-Bill- 
beg among the others who were walking towards the 
church. He stopped the harbor-master, and said, 

Mind you see that all is done in decency and order, 
and that you close my church before midnight.** 

‘‘Aw, but the church is the people’s, I*m thinkin*,** 
said Tommy-Bill-beg, witn a deprecating shake of his 
wise head. 

“The people are as ignorant as goats,** said the parson 
angrily. 

“ Aw, well, and you’re the shepherd, so just make 
sheeps of them,” answered Tommy, and passed on. 

Laughing at the rejoinder, Christian and Mona went 
by the church, and, reaching the quay, they crossed the 
bridge at the top of the harbor. Then, hand in hand, 
they walked under the Horse Hill, and, without thinking 
what direction they took, they turned up the path that 
led towards the cottage in the old quarry. 

Half the hill-side seemed to be ablaze. Danny’s fire 


SHE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


157 


over the Poolvash had spread north by many hundred 
yards. The wind was now blowing strongly from the 
sea, and fanned it into flame. The castle could be seen 
by its light from the black rocks fringed about with foam 
to the top of Fennella’s Tower. 

When they came abreast of the cottage they saw that a 
dim light burned in one window. They stepped up and 
looked into the house. On a bed, covered by a white 
sheet, lay all that remained of Kisseck. An old woman, 
set to watch the body, sat knitting beside it. 

The deep roar of the sea was all that could be heard 
there above the moan of the wind. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

OIEL VERREE. 

On this occasion, as on all similar occasions for the 
last thirty years, Tommy-Bill-beg, the harbor-master, 
and Jemmy Quark Balladhoo had been each to contribute 
towards the curious Manx ritual of carol or carval sing- 
ing. Great had hitherto been the rivalry between these 
musical celebrities. But word had gone around the 
town that to-night their efforts were to be combined in a 
carol which they were to sing together. A young wag 
had effected this extraordinary combination by a plot 
which was expected to add largely to the amusement of 
the listeners. 

Tommy-Bill-beg, as was well known, could not read a 
syllable, yet he would never sing his carol without hav- 
ing the printed copy of it in his hand. Such curious 


158 


SHE’S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


vanity had long been a cause of merriment, and now 
some capital was to be made out of it. Jemmy Quark 
Balladhoo, on the other hand, could read, but he re- 
sembled Tommy-Bill-beg in being almost stone-deaf. 
Each could hear himself sing, but neither could hear 
another. 

And now for the plot. Young Mr. Wag had called on 
the harbor-master that niorning at his ivy cottage, and 
‘‘Tommy,” said he, “ it’s mortal strange the way a man 
of your common-sense can’t see that you’d wallop that 
squeaking ould Jemmy Balladhoo in a jiffy if you’d only 
consent to sing a ballad along with him. Bless me, it’s 
then they’d be seeing what a weak, ould, cracked pot of 
a voice is at him.” 

Tommy-Bill-beg’s face began to wear a smile of be- 
nevolent condescension. Observing his advantage, the 
young rascal continued, “ Do it at the Oiel Verree to- 
night, Tommy. He’ll sing his treble, and you’ll sing 
seconds to him.” 

It was an unlucky remark. The harbor-master frowned 
with the austerity of a Malvolio. Me sing seconds to 
the craythur ? No ; never ! ” 

It was explained to Tommy-Bill-beg, with a world of 
abject apology, that there was a sense in which seconds 
meant firsts. The harbor-master was mollified, and at 
length consented to the proposal; but with one idea 
clearly impressed upon his mind, namely, that if he was 
to sing a carol with Jemmy Balladhoo, he must take good 
care to sing his loudest, in order to drown at once the 
voice of his rival, and the bare notion that it was he who 
was singing seconds to such a poor creature as that. 


SEE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME. 


159 


Then Mr. Wag walked up the hill to Balladhoo, and 

Jemmy, said he, ‘‘ it’s mortal strange the way a man 
of your common-sense can’t see that you’d wallop that 
squeaking ould Tommy-Bill-beg in a jiffy if you’d only 
consent to sing a ballad along with him. Do it at the 
Oiel Verree to-night. Jemmy, and bless me ! that’s the 
when they’ll be seeing what a weak, ould, cracked-pot 
of a voice is at the craythur.” 

The gardener of Balladhoo fell an easier prey to the 
plot than the harbor-master, and a carol was selected. 
It was to be the ancient carol on the bad women men- 
tioned in the Bible as having (from Eve downward) 
brought evil on mankind. This was accounted an ap- 
propriate ditty for these notable illustrations of bachel- 
ordom. 

Now, Tommy-Bill-beg always kept his carols where 
Danny saw them — pinned against the walls of his cot- 
tage. The <‘Bad Women” was the carol which was 
pinned above the mantel-piece. It resembled all the 
others in being worn, crumpled, and dirty ; but Tommy 
knew it by its locality, and could distinguish every other 
by its position. 

Young Mr. Wag had somehow got what he called a 
*^skute” into this literary mystery ; so, after arranging 
with Jemmy Quark, he watched Tommy-Bill-beg out of 
his house, crept into it unobserved, took down the carol 
pinned above the mantel -piece, and fixed up another in 
place of it from a different part of the room. The sub- 
stituted carol happened, oddly enough, to be a second 
copy of the same carol on, ‘‘Bad Women,” with this 
radical difference : that the one taken down was the 


160 


SRE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, 


version of the carol in English, and the one put up was 
the version in Manx. 

The bells began to ring, and Tommy-Bill-beg donned 
his best petticoat and monkey-jacket, put the carol in his 
pocket, and went off to church. 

Prayers had been said that night to a thin congrega- 
tion, but no sooner were they done, and the parson had 
prepared to leave, than great crowds of young men and 
maidens trooped down the isles. The young women 
went up into the gallery, and from that elevation shot 
down at their bachelor friends large handfuls of peas ; 
but to what ancient spirit of usage, beyond the ancient 
spirit of mischief, the strange practice was due must be 
left as a solemn problem to the learned and curious anti- 
quaries. 

Nearly everybody carried a candle, the candles of the 
young women being usually adorned with a red ribbon 
and rosette. The brilliance of illumination was such as 
the dusky old church enjoyed only once in a year. 

When everything was understood to be ready, and the 
parish clerk had taken his station inside the communion- 
rail, the business of the Oiel Verree began. First one 
man got up and sang a carol in English ; then another 
sang a Manx carol. The latter depicted the physical 
sufferings of Chris% and described, with an intensity of 

naturalism even yet unknown to modern literature, 
how the skin was torn off his shoulder-blade.'* But 
the great event of the night was to be the carol sung by 
the sworn enemies, Tommy-Bill-beg and Jemmy Quark 
Balladhoo. 

At last ^:heir time came. They rose from opposite 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


161 


sides of the church, eyed each other with severe looks, 
stepped out of their pews, and walked down the aisle to 
the door of the porch. Then they turned about in si- 
lence, and, standing side by side, faced the commun- 
ion. 

The whispering in the gallery and tittering in the body 
were audible to all except the persons who were the oc- 
casion of them. 

<‘Hush, hush, ma veen, that^s him, that’s him. 

** Bless me, look at Tommy-Bill-beg and the petticoat, 
and the handkercher pinnin’ round his throat ! ” Aw 
dear, it’s what he’s used of.” ‘‘A reg’lar Punch- 
and-Judy.” Hush, man, let them make a start for 
all.” 

The carol they were about to sing contained some 
thirty verses. It was an ancient usage that after each 
verse the carol-singers should take a long stride together 
towards the communion. By the time the carol came to 
an end they must therefore be at the opposite end of the 
church. What this meant must also be left to the ven- 
erable doctors aforesaid. 

There was now a sublime scorn printed on the features 
of Jemmy Quark. As for Tommy-Bill-beg, he looked 
at this last moment like a man who was rather sorry than 
otherwise for his rash adversary. The rermantick 
they’re looking,” whispered one expectant maiden in the 
gallery to a giggling companion beside her. 

Expectation was at its highest when Tommy-Bill-beg 
thrust his hand into the pocket of his monkey-jacket and 
brought out the printed copy of the carol. Tommy un- 
folded it, glanced at it with the air of a conductor tak* 


162 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


ing a final look at his score, nodded his head at it as 
if in approval, and then, with a magnanimous gesture, 
held it between himself and Jemmy Quark. Jemmy in 
turn glanced at it, glanced again, glanced a third time 
at the paper, and then up into the face of Tommy-Bill- 
beg. 

Anxiety was now on tip-toe. Hush, d’ye hear, hush, 
or it’s spoiling all you’ll be, for sure.” 

At the moment when Jemmy Quark glanced into the 
face of Tommy-Bill-beg there was a smile on that benign 
countenance. Jemmy mistook that smile. He imagined 
he saw a trick. Jemmy could read, and he perceived 
that the carol which the harbor-master held out to him 
was not the carol he had been told to prepare for. They 
were, by arrangement, to have sung the English version 
of ^‘Bad Women.” This was the Manx version, and it 
was always sung to a different metre. Ha ! Jemmy un- 
derstood it all ! This rascally Tommy-Bill-beg was try- 
ing to expose him. The monster wanted to show that 
he. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, could only sing one carol, 
but Jemmy would be even with him. He could sing this 
Manx version, and he would. It was Jemmy’s turn to 
smile. 

‘‘Aw, look at them — the pair of them — grinnin’ to- 
gether like the two ould gurgoils on the steeple.” 

At a motion of the harbor-master’s hand, intended to 
beat the time, the singers began. Tommy-Bill-beg sang 
the carol agreed upon — the English version of “Bad 
Women.” Jemmy Quark sang the carol of which they 
held the printed copy in their hands — the Manx version 
of “Bad Women.” Neither heard the other. Each 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


163 


bawled at the utmost reach of his lung-power. To one 
tune Tommy-Bill-beg sang — 

" Thus from the days of Adam 
Her mischief you may trace,” 

and to another tune Jemmy Quark sang — 

** She ish va’n voir ain ooilley 
Son v^ee da Adam ben.” 

What laughter ensued ! How the young women in 
the gallery lay back in their seats with shrieks of hys- 
teria ! How the young fellows in the body made the 
sacred edifice ring with guffaws ? But the singers — 
Tommy especially — with eyes steadfastly fixed on the 
paper, heard nothing but each his own voice. Thus 
they sang on. 

They had got through three verses, and made three 
strides towards the communion, when suddenly there 
was heard above the uproar a dismal and unearthly cry, 
and all at once the laughter and the shouting of the 
people ceased. Every face turned to the porch. 

Bareheaded, dripping wet from his matted hair to his 
feet, a ghastly light in his sunken eyes, with wasted 
cheeks and panting breath, Danny Fayle stood there, 
one hand on the door-jamb, the other holding a coil of 
rope. 

The Ben-my-Chree is on the rocks ! ” he cried, and 
was gone in an instant. 

If a spectre had appeared the consternation had 
scarcely been greater. But the next moment, re- 


164 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


covering from their surprise, the people on all sides 
leaped up and rushed out of the church. In two min- 
utes not a soul was left except Tommy-Bill-beg and 
Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, who still sang lustily oblivious 
of the fact that they had no audience. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

ON THE MOAR REEF. 

This is what had happened. 

When Christian and Mona turned away from the house 
in the quarry, with its dead man and solitary watcher, 
they thought they descried a sail far out in the black 
void beyond the line of wild sea that was lit up by the 
burning gorse. 

Let's hope they're not in the down-stream, poor 
fellows, whoever they are," said Christian. ‘<Tn a 
wind like this it would be certain to drive them dead on 
to the Moar Reef." 

Then they continued their walk, and passed the open 
shaft in which Christian had spent his night of peril and 
agony. There was so much to say that neither spoke 
except at long intervals. There was so much else to feel 
that neither felt weary, nor remembered the many hours 
in which both had been strangers to sleep. They might 
have wandered on — two dark figures against the red glow 
of the great fire — until the steep declivities of the Pool- 
vash had stopped them, but that the wind rose higher 
every moment, and threatened to sweep them from thek 
feet. 


ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 165 

Listen how the sea thunders/' said Christian; and 
just then a cloud of hissing spray came up to them, high 
as they were, from the boiling surge below. 

They turned back, laughing as every gust tore them a 
little apart. 

Before they passed the cottage on their return they 
were conscious of faint cries from beneath. 

<‘Hark," said Mona, ‘‘surely they were voices from 
the sea." 

There could be no doubt of it now. Several voices 
were calling in accents of fearful agony, and above the 
rest was one wild thin shriek. It seemed to echo in the 
lowering dome of the empty sky — was such a cry of dis- 
tress as might haunt one's dreams for years. 

“ It's from the boat we saw, and they're on the Moar 
Reef, too surely," said Christian. Then they hastened 
on. 

When they reached the shore they found the sea run- 
ning high. A long ground-swell was breaking in the 
narrow strait between the main-land and the Castle Isle. 
Flakes of sea-foam were flying around them. The waves 
were scooping up the shingle and flinging it through the 
air like sleet. 

The cries were louder here than above. By the light 
of Danny's fire it was but too easy to see from whence 
they came. Jammed between two huge protruding 
horns of rock a fishing-boat was laboring hard in the 
heavy sea, rearing with a creak on the great waves, and 
plunging down with a crash and groan on the sharp 
teeth of the shoal beneath her. 

The men on deck could be seen hacking at the mast 


m SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

to lighten her, and cutting away the gunwale forward to 
ease her off the horns that held her like a vise. But 
every fresh wave behind drove her head deeper into the 
cleft. The men shouted in mingled rage and fear. 
They tried to leap on to the rocks, but the weight of 
seas breaking on them made this a perilous adventure, 
even if the pitching of the boat left it possible. 

Christian took in the situation in an instant. Two or 
three small boats were lying high and dry on the shore. 
He ran to them, cut away their cables, tied them to- 
gether in strong knots, slung one end round his waist 
and passed the other about an old spar that lay close 
by. 

They’re too near for us to stand and see them die,” 
he shouted excitedly above the tumult of the wind. 

Mona clung to him for an instant. Then she loosed 
him with a fervent kiss. 

In another moment he had plunged into the water. 

The strait was very narrow — sixty feet at most from 
the shore to the rocks. Yet what a toilsome journey to 
the man who was wading off with the rope. The tide 
was flowing and near the top. It never rose higher than 
four or five feet in this channel. A m?.n might cross it 
if the swell did not sweep him back. 

Through the boiling surf, piercingly cold, Christian 
struggled bravely. He was young and strong. He 
reached the boat at last. It was prancing like an un- 
broken horse. But waiting for a receding wave, he 
rushed in, laid firm hold of the first man at hand, and 
carried him back to the shore. The man had lain m 
his arms a dead weight. Was he dead indeed ? 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


167 


Mona stooped and looked into his face. ‘‘It is 
Danny Fayle,” she cried. 

But Danny was not dead. He recovered conscious- 
ness, and staggered to his feet. 

Loud and angry cries were now coming from the 
boat. Mingled with the curses of rage there came the 
words, “ Why didn’t you give us the rope ? ” 

Christian shouted that he was coming back with it. 
Then, watching again for an ebbing wave, he plunged 
off afresh. He reached the boat quicker this time. 
Being pulled aboard, he unlashed the rope and strapped 
it to the capstan. Then one of the men — it was old 
Quilleash — dropped over the side, and drew himself 
hand-over-hand through the water. 

But the rope stretched and creaked with the rolling 
of the boat. The spar to which the end ashore was 
strapped budged not an inch. Mona saw the danger 
too late. Before she could ease the rope it snapped. 

Now Christian added one more to the number of 
those on the boat ! 

Old Billy, safe on shore, sat down on the shingle and 
sobbed, terror-stricken and helpless. Thank God, the 
poor despised Danny had his wits about him. He saw 
what had happened, and ran for another rope. Flying 
into the town, he shouted, “ Help, help ! ** But all 
Peel seemed to be at the “carvals.” He ran to the 
church. Screams of laughter and the tumult of noisy sing- 
ing came out into the darkness. Scarce knowing what 
he did, he burst open the door, and cried, in a piercing 
voice, “The Ben-my-Chree is on the rocks. Then, 
with the new rope in his hand, he fled away to the shore* 


168 


SHJi:^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


When Danny got back a great multitude was at his 
heels. Old Quilleash still sat wailing and helpless. 
Mona ran up and down the shore in an agony of sus- 
pense. The lad looked at neither. The hill-side of fire 
behind them showed but too clearly what had occurred. 
Chilled to the bone by the raw winter wind, four of the 
men had dropped overboard. A fifth had leaped into 
the water, and after a fearful struggle for life had been 
lifted off his feet by the breakers and broken on the 
rocks. 

He was seen no more. Only two remained on the 
deck, and one of the two was Christian. He could be 
seen clinging to the bowsprit, which was shipped. The 
dingy had been torn from the lugger, and thrown by 
the rising tide high and dry on the shingle. Danny 
pushed it to the water’s edge, jumped in, strapped one 
end of the new rope about his body, threw the other to 
a group of men on the shore, and looked round for as- 
sistance. None stepped out. Many fell back. ^^It’s 
no use throwing more lives away,” muttered one. 
‘^They’re past saving,” said another. Women clung 
to their husbands, and would not let them stir. Other 
women, the wives of men who had be^n on the boat, 
cried Help.” Little children, crouching together 
with fear and cold, wept piteously. 

Danny pushed off his boat, but in an instant it was 
lifted on to the top of a snow-capped billow and pitched 
ashore. Danny himself was thrown out on the shingle. 

No use, man,” shouted many voices, and the lad was 
compelled to desist. 

The wind clamored louder every minute. Timbers 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


169 


cut away from the fishing-boat were swept up with 
every wave. The surf around the rocks was like snow. 
The water was beaten into seething foam around the boat 
also ; between the billows the long swell was red with 
the reflection of the fire, but the sea was black as ink be- 
yond the line of the Castle Isle, save where, at the 
farthest line of wave and sky, a streak of ashen light 
shone in the darkness. 

Danny had coiled the rope from end to end around 
his waist. Then he stood and waited. He knew that 
the tide must soon turn. He knew too that, having once 
begun to ebb, it would flow out at this point as fast as a 
horse might gallop. But low water never left those rocks 
dry between which the fishing-boat was jammed. The 
men aboard of her would still need succor. But help 
might then come to them from the castle side of the 
channel. 

The crowd knew his purpose, and laughed at it. One 
grisled old fisherman took Danny by the arm, and would 
have held him. But at the first glimpse of the reef that 
ran across the highest and narrowest point of the strait, 
the lad shook himself free, and bounded across to the 
Castle Isle. 

Brave Danny, said Mona, in a deep whisper. 

Brave? Is it brave? Aw, well, it^s mad I^m call- 
ing it,'* said the old salt. 

There is a steep pathway under the east wall of the 
castle. It runs up from the shore to a great height above 
the water. It is narrow enough to be called a ledge, 
and the rocks beneath it fall well-nigh precipitously. 
Danny ran along this path until he came to the square 


170 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


turret, whose truncated shaft stands on the south-east 
corner of the castle. While he was under the shelter of 
the walls the wind did not touch him, but when he 
reached the east angle a fierce gust from the west threat- 
ened to fling him over into the sea. He tried to round 
the corner and could not. The wind filled his jersey 
like a sail. He took the jersey off and threw it aside. 
Then, on hands and knees he crawled round inch by 
inch, clinging to the stones of the turret and the few tus- 
sacs of long grass that grew between them. 

Every movement he made could be watched from the 
opposite side of the channel. The light of the gorse 
fired over the Poolvash fell full upon him, and lit up the 
entire castle and rocks and the shuddering boat beneath 
with an eerie brilliance. The townspeople were congre- 
gated in thousands on the Horse Hill and the shore of 
the main-land. Whose yonder madman? ** cried one. 

Danny Fayle,’^ answered another. ‘‘No, not Danny, 
the gawk?** “Aw, yes, though, Danny, the gawk.** 
Kerruish Kinvig was there, striding up and down, and 
shouting like thunder itself above the tumult of the 
wind, “Clear the road. Stand back, the ruck of you.** 
There was nothing else that Kinvig could do. Mylrea 
Balladhoo had been sent for. He came and sat down 
on the spar to which Christian had strapped the rope. 
The broken piece still hung to it. Mona stood beside 
him, and spoke to him at intervals. He answered noth- 
ing, but stared vacantly before him. 

The people held their breath as Danny rounded the 
turret, expecting every instant to see him lifted from the 
ledge and hurled into the surf beneath. When he had 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


171 


cleared the corner, and stood full in the wind on the 
south side of the castle, directly above the two protrud- 
ing rocks that held the fishing-boat in their grip, the 
crowds rushed down the shore and along the top of the 
Contrary Head to keep him in view. What other mad 
act would the lad attempt ? 

He’ll go round to the west, and come back on the 
shingle.” 

‘‘Not him, man; the shore there is in six feet of 
water.” 

Danny emerged presently. He was seen to tie one 
end of his rope through a hole in the old castle wall to a 
huge stone built into it. The other end was still about 
his waist. <‘He’s going down the rocks to the boat.” 
^'^Gerr out of that. He’d be cut in pieces.” 
dear, the poor boy’s not mad enough for that, anyway.” 

But Danny was going down the rocks. Sharp as 
needles, with their thousand teeth turned upward, slip- 
pery and icy cold, Danny set his foot on them. He 
began his descent with his back to the sea. Clouds of 
spray rose from every third wave and hid him from the 
people. But he was seen to be going down foot after 
foot. What had seemed like madness before began to 
look like courage now that success appeared possible. 
It was neither — it was despair. Aw, beautiful ! ” 
** Beautiful, extraordinary ! ” It’s the young Masther 
Christian he’s going down for.” ** Well, well, the 
masther was kind to the boy astonishing.” ‘‘ Poor lad, 
tfure*s a heart at him ! ” 

Meanwhile Christian was clinging to the bowsprit. 
He was chilled near to losing his hold. He saw Danny 


172 


SEE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


with the rope, and wondered if he would ever reach 
them. His companion — some said it was the mate, 
Davy Cain — saw him also, and the poor fellow was so 
transported by the prospect of deliverance that he died 
on the instant, and was swept away. Only Christian 
now remained. Every moment the waves washed over 
him. He was numbed past feeling. His hands were 
swelled to twice their size. Wondering if when Danny 
reached him with the rope he would have strength 
enough to grip it, he lost consciousness. 

When within a yard of the bow of the boat, Danny 
leaped and landed on the deck. The people had held 
their breath while he descended. Now a great cheer 
went up on the shore and on the cliff. It rang out 
above the clamor of the wind and the hiss of the thrash- 
ing billows. But Danny heard it not. His thoughts 
were of Mona, and of how she was blessing him in her 
heart. As surely as if he heard it with his carnal ear, 
Danny knew that even at that moment Mona was pray- 
ing that strength might be granted him, and that he 
might be blessed in the mercy of God forever. 

He lifted Christian in his arms. The swelled hands 
had next to no hold now. Then the lad set his face 
afresh to the cruel, black, steep rocks. Once again a 
shower of spray hid him from the people. When the 
white cloud had fallen back he could be seen half-way 
up the rock, dragging Christian on one arm after him. 

Could none help him ? Yes ; twenty hands set out at 
this moment, nine-tenths of the peril past. The tide 
had left a wide bank across the highest part of the strait^ 
and the water was running out on both sides. 


SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 


m 


Danny was helped up, but he would not relinquish his 
burden. Walking feebly, he carried Christian, who 
was still insensible, along the narrow *path under the 
east wall back to the shore. The crowd divided for 
him. He saw Mona, where she stood with clasped 
hands beside Balladhoo. Making his way to her, he 
laid Christian at her feet. 

Danny's life's work was done. He had given back to 
the woman who was 'all the world to him the man she 
loved. 

Mona dropped to her knees besides Christian, and 
kissed him tenderly. Danny stood apart in silence, and 
amid all that throng saw Mona alone. Then he turned 
his head aside and looked away over the sea. Only 
Heaven knew what his thoughts were in that bitter hour 
— that blessed hour — that hour of sorrow and of glory. 
In this world his days were done. For Kisseck's death, 
what remained to him among men ? Without Mona's 
love, what was left to him on earth ? 

Christian returned to consciousness. Mona rose up 
and took Danny's hand. She would have put her arms 
around his neck, but he drew away, and turned his eyes' 
again towards the sea. The longing look came back, 
but no tear would start, for the gift of tears had gone 
forever. 

The hum of human voices arose above them. Poor 
lad, and his uncle dead too." ‘‘Kisseck?" ‘*Aw, 
yes, Kisseck. " ‘ ‘ No. " ‘ ‘ Yes, though — and shot^ 

they're sayin'." ‘‘Never." “Who shot 
“ There's no one knowing that." 


174 


8HE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME, 


A loud, unearthly peal of laughter was heard above 
the noise of the people and the tumult of the storm. 
Every one turned to look for Danny. He had gone. 
The next moment he was seen at the water’s edge push- 
ing off the dingy of the lugger. He leaped into it and 
picked up an oar. But the ebbing tide needed no such 
help. It caught the boat and carried it away on a huge 
billow white with foam. In a minute it was riding fai 
out into the dark void beyond. 

Then Mona remembered Danny’s strange words two 
days ago, ** I think at whiles I’d like to die in a big sea 
like that.” 

Next day — Christmas-day — when the bleared sun was 
sinking over the western bar of the deep lone sea, and 
Danny’s gorse fire on the cliff-head was smouldering out, 
a boat was washed ashore in the Poolvash — empty, cap- 
sized, It was the dingy of the Ben-my- Chree. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THREE YEARS AFTER. 

One scene more. 

It was the morning of a summer’s day. The sunshine 
danced bewitchingly over the sea, that lay drowsily 
under the wide vault of a blue sky. Lambent, languid, 
white, earth and air slept together. 

A soothing and dreamy haze rested on the little town 
of Peel. 

Brighter than the sunshine, fresher than the salt breath 
of the sea, a little girl of eight tripped over the paved 


SEE^S ALL TEE WORLD TO ME, x/b 

and crabbed streets. In one hand she swung a straw-hat 
overflowing with flowers. By the other she held a fair- 
haired boy, who was just old enough to trot along at her 
side. The stout little man carried a mighty spade across 
one shoulder, and the hand that held the hand of his 
sister held also a bucket heavily laden with perhaps a 
teaspoon full of sand. At one moment the maiden, 
exercising the grave duties of a guardian, stopped, and 
volunteered to relieve the little chap of this burden ; but, 
of course, he resented the humiliating tender with 
proper masculine dignity. Then they tripped on. 

They were making for the Market-place, and when 
they reached it they turned in at the church gates. 
Many a green grave lay there bathed in the sunbeams ; 
and many a simple stone, moss-grown and discolored, 
looked brighter on this brilliant day. An old man sat 
on a tomb and leaned forward on a stick. He seemed 
to doze in the light and warmth ; but as the little people 
passed him, he fumbled at his hat and smiled through 
his teethless gums. 

** 'At's Billy,’’ said the little fellow, with an air of 
knowledge. 

The children walked to the south-west angle of the 
church, and stopped before a white marble slab em- 
bedded in the wall. There was no grave beneath it. 
Tossed on the shimmering waters that stretched away 
miles on miles in front of it, or resting calmly in that 
ocean bed, was all that remained of him to whom this 
stone was raised. 

The little maiden cast her flowers in front of it. The 
little boy, too, must needs cast his flowers also. Then 


176 SHE^S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

he looked up with his great blue wondering eyes at the 
letters of the inscription. They ran : 

To Dear Danny in heaven. 

The tide was just on the turn, and the murmur of the 
first receding waves began to break the silence. 

^‘Listen,** said the little woman, with lifted finger. 

I *ikes the sea,’* said the boy. 

The children turned to go. Come, Danny,*' said 
she. 

**Ees, Ruby,** he lisped. 

When they reached the gate the little feet tripped 
faster over the stones, and a silvery voice sang ; 

Sweet violets, and primroses the sweetest** 


THE MB. 



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